RICKS COLLEGE IRC 1404 00 089 432 6 NQY 2 ^ W95 12/6/ ^ APR i s o — n 1 9 199T Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Brigham Young University-Idaho http://archive.org/details/dramaticworksofv01hugo BARA BERNHARDT DECLAIMING "THE BATTLE OF HEBNANI" BEFOKE THE BUST OF VICTOR HUGO. Hernani, Frontispiece. DRAMA1 VIC ;* / \ DRAMATIC WORKS OF VICTOR HUGO. TRANSLATED BY FREDERICK L. SLOUS, AND MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND, Author of " The Diamond Wedding, awl other Poems," " Hubert Freeih's Prosperity," " Stories of the City of London," etc. HERNANI. THE KING'S DIVERSION. RUY BLAS. PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED WITH ELEGANT WOOD ENGRAVINGS. •voltj^le ~v. NEW YORK: P. F. COLLIER, PUBLISHER: CONTENTS. Hernani, translated by Mrs. Newton Crosland 21 The King's Diversion, translated by Fred'k L. Slous . . 1G5 Ruy Blas, translated by Mrs. Newton Crosland 267 EDITOR'S PREFACE. 'S the Translator of "Hernani" and "Ruy Bias,'' I may be permitted to offer a few remarks on the tliree great dramas which are now presented in an English form to the English-speaking- public. Each of these works is preceded by the Author's Preface, which perhaps exhausts all that had to be said of the play which follows — from his own original point of view. It is curious to contrast the confident egotism, the frequent self-assertion, and the indignation at repression which mark the prefaces to " Hernani " and " Le Roi s' Amuse " with the calm dignity of the very fine dramatic criticism which intro- duces the reader to "Ruy Bias." But when the last-named tragedy was produced, Victor Hugo's fame was established and his literary position secure ; he no longer had need to assert himself, for if a few enemies still remained, their voices were but as the buzzing of flies about a giant. Trusting that the Author's Prefaces will be carefully read, I will endeavor only to supplement what is said in them. " Hernani " belongs emphatically to the romantic school, and to the period in European literature when the bonds of olden custom in all the arts were being broken — often for good (5). 6 EDITOR'S PREFACE. results, though not always. Hernani is a rebel, and called a bandit throughout the play — but he is a rebel noble, sworn to avenge his father's wrongs, and his band may fairly be supposed to have been recruited from a disaffected army. He is a young lover as ardent as Romeo, with less trust and more jealousy, and Dona Sol corresponds in some respects to Juliet. Yet it is well to mark the difference between the man's love and the woman's, as the great poet has faithfully shown it. With Dona Sol her love is her "sole existence." It is because Hernani refuses when urged to subdue his master passion, ven- geance, and thus be released from his pledge, that the play becomes a tragedy. Not until too late for life and happiness is his vengeance overcome by the magnanimity of Charles. One of the admirable characteristics of this work is that all the personages portrayed are such distinct individuals that any one knowing the play tolerably well would, there is little doubt, identify any line that might be quoted, apportioning it to the right speaker. But this power of distinctly and forcibly delin- eating his characters is one of Hugo's never-failing attributes, and is shown hardly less in the subordinate courtiers who play their part in the drama, than in the leading personages. Don Carlos may not be quite the Charles the Fifth of history, but he is something greater — a poet's fine creation. It seems to me that the old man, Ruy Gomez, is one of the most subtle conceptions which a great poet ever vivified. He is a man who has reached sixty years of age in the enjoyment of unsullied fame and the noblest repute — a man to whom the preservation of what was called Castilian honor was beyond all other duties, all other happiness. The scene of the Portraits must warm every noble nature to pathetic sympatic ; and yet when we have finished the play we discover of how little worth was that chivalry of Spain which " Cervantes laughed away " — how completely was it a mere form — a code of set rules — not what chivalry surely ought to be, an influence springing from Christianity and capable of being adapted to all circumstances. EDITOR'S PREFACE. Such was not the chivalry of Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, Duke de Pastrana, when crossed and thwarted in bis heart's desire Tempted then by furious passions he fell. There was no chivalry in his Shylock-like holding1 of Hernani to his bond. I think there are two or three brief sentences in the Fifth Act, which are like Hashes of lurid lightning by which we see the depths of the malignity which rages in the heart of the old Duke — depths which it would have taken an inferior writer half a page to describe. Perhaps, however, the finest portion of this work is the Fourth Act, which includes the magnificent monologue of Tharles the Fifth before the tomb of Charlemagne. A trans- lator mast be very incompetent if his rendering of this speech does not stir the pulse of the reader who remembers that it embodies the ideas of a noble despot in the days when des- potism was the only form of government. And this brings one to the point of what has often been said about Victor Hugo being untranslatable. It cannot be denied that in a certain sense all poetry of the first order must be untranslatable. It is scarcely possible that any phrase of another language can be quite so happy as that into which the molten thought of genius first flowed. Neither is it likely, if possible, that the melody of the first inspiration can find a complete equivalent m a strange tongue. But surely the language of Shakespeare and Milton, of Pope and of Byron, and of our living Victorian poets is not so poor that it cannot express subtle thoughts precisely, eloquent pleadings with fervor, and poetical imagery with force and grace ! Shakespeare must be as untranslatable — in the sense to which I have alluded — as undoubtedly is Victor Hugo. Yet the French know something of our greatest poet even through translations. Byron also is tolerably familiar to them, not to mention lesser lights. It may seem a paradox, but I think it is only a truth, to say that the greater a poet is, the more capable are his works of translation ; and for this reason. 8 EDITOR'S PREFACE. They contain the larger store of deep thought, which, like pure gold, may be put into the crucible and melted into a new shape. Smaller poets do not supply this precious substance, and so what little charm they have evaporates in the necessary treatment. It has, I believe, been said by one or two detracting critics that Victor Hugo is, for a great writer, deficient in humor. He is generally too terribly in earnest to be turned aside to make fun on slight provocation ; but the manner in which Don Carlos, in the First Act of " Hernani," mystifies the proud Duke surely belongs to the richest vein of comedy; and of sarcasm there is abundance throughout the play. It would occupy too much space to relate half the amusing stories associated with the first production of "Hernani." The great actress, Mdlle. Mars — though more than fifty years of age — personated the heroine to perfection ; but she did not in the first instance like her part, nor did she appreciate the play until success enabled her to do so. Certainly she could not have comprehended the work in its entireness, or she would not have raised the objection she did to a certain line in the Third Act, Scene the Fourth. In her egotism she probably looked on Hernani as a commom bandit, instead of a rebel Lord defying a King. It is a powerful scene in which Hernani had been lamenting that he had only a dole of misery to offer to his love, and Dona Sol exclaims : "Vous §tes mon lion superbe et genereux ! n ("You are my lion generous and superb!") And time after time, at rehearsal, Mdlle. Mars halted at this passage, shaded her eyes with her hand, and pretended to look round for the author — though she knew perfectly well where he was seated in the orchestra — and then would inquire if M. Hugo were present. " I am here, Madam," Hugh would reply — and then would ensue a dialogue but slightly varied on each occasion. EDITOR'S PREFACE 9 It is Dumas, who attended many of these rehearsals, thai tells the story : "Do you really Like that liin- r* the actress would say. " Madam, 1 so wrote it." " So you stick to your lion ?" "Find me something better, and I will alter it." "That is not for me to do," retorted the actress. "I am not the author." "Well, then. Madam, as that is the case, let us leave it as it is." A little more argument, but next day all had to be gone over again. And when Mdlle. Mars declared that it was a dangerous line, which would certainly be hissed, the author replied that this would only be the case if she did not deliver it with her usual power. At last she ventured to suggest that instead of "mon lion" Doiia Sol should say " Monseig- neur," and wondered what objection there could be to the substitution. "Only,'' replied Hugo, "that mon lion elevates the verse, and Monseigneur lowers it," — adding, "I would rather be hissed for a good verse than applauded for a bad one." In fact these vexatious interruptions were so irritating to the poet, that towards the close of one of the rehearsals, he asked to speak to Mdlle. Mars, and told her that he wished her to give back the part. The actress turned pale; she was accustomed to be urgently solicited to undertake characters, but never before had she been required to give one up. She apolo- gized, and the little quarrel was in a measure made up ; though she preserved a cold, discontented manner which chilled the other actors ; happily, however, she did exert all her powers when the hour for their display arrived. On the first night that " Hernani " was performed, a signifi- cant incident showed the effect that it produced. The monologue of Charles the Fifth, in the Fourth Act, was received with thunders of applause; and while the tumult was unabated, 10 EDITOR'S PREFACE. it was intimated to Victor Hugo that he was wanted. It was a little man with eager eyes who wished to speak to him. "My name is Mame," said the stranger, "I am the partner of M. Baudoin the publisher — but we cannot talk here — can you spare me a minute outside the theatre ?" They passed into the street, when the little man continued : — "M. Baudoin and I have witnessed the performance— we should like to publish ' Hernani,' will you sell it?" "What will you give?" said the author. "Six thousand francs." Victor Hugo suggested that he should wait till the per- formance was over, but M. Mame desired to conclude the business at once, notwithstanding Hugo's generous reminder that the success at the close might be less complete than it appeared at present. "That is true," said the publisher, "but it may be greater. At the second act I meant to offer you two thousand francs; at the third I advanced to four thousand ; and now at the fourth I offer you six. If I wait till the fifth act is over I fear I should offer you ten thousand." Victor Hugo was so amused that he could not help laugh- ing, and promised that the matter should be arranged the next morning. But this little delay did not suit the impatient publisher, who had the money in his pocket, and wished to settle the affair at once. So the pair entered a tobacconist's shop, where stamped paper and pen and ink were procured, and the bargain duly made ; one exceedingly acceptable to the poet, who was then very poor, and had but fifty francs in his possession. In the author's preface to " Le Roi s'Amuse " he eloquently defends himself from the charge of having produced an immoral play. Certainly in this work vice is neither really triumphant nor made for one moment attractive, and yet, as the translator forcibly observes,* there can be little Avonder that after one representation its performance was prohibited. EDITOR'S PREFACE. 11 It was intimated to the Author that " Le Roi s' Amuse " was suppressed because it contained a verse that was looked upon as an insult to the Citizen King* Louis Philippe. Victor Hugo denied emphatically any such intention, and as for long years afterwards the Orleans family remained on the most familial- and friendly terms with him, it is difficult to suppose that they believed in the accusation. And just as Hugo had refused from Charles the Tenth an addition to his pension in consideration of the suppression of " Marion de Lorme " — so now, after the performance of " Le Roi s'Amuse " had been prohibited, on being taunted by the Ministerial journals with receiving his original pension of two thousand francs, he threw it up, declining to take another sou. It is true also that in his preface he speaks contemptuously of the government — but the fact remains — testified anew in the recently published volume, " Choses Vues " — that Hugo continued the intimate associate of the King* and the Orleans princes. Few readers wTill blame the censor for prohibiting the play, though they may differ concerning the verity of his alleged motives — and for pastime may sharpen their wits in seeking to find the clue to the puzzle. I look upon it as a curious coincidence that the " Lady of Lyons" in London, and " Ruy Bias" in Paris, should have been produced in the same year. Both dramas turn on the incident of a man of humble station loving a woman greatly his superior in social rank, and winning her affections in an assumed char- acter ; and quite possibly both plays were suggested by the true story of Angelica KaufTman, who was entrapped into a marriage with a valet, believing him to be a foreign nobleman. But save in the one circumstance no two works can be more dissim- ilar than these are. The English like plays to end happily, or at any rate, for only the repulsive villains to suffer, and the cleverly constructed yet highly melodramatic " Lady of Lyons " hit the taste of the town exactly. Two great artists, Macready and Helen Faucit, embodied Lord Lytton's creations in so poetical a manner, that they assumed a dignity which 12 EDITOR'S PREFACE. inferior actors must fail to give them. The love was pure, and there was repentance with atonement before the happy climax. Besides, the difference between the gardener's son and the merchant's daughter was not so outrageously great, as to shut out the hope of its being- spanned. The audience was deepty, pathetically touched — the play was effective in the highest degree — and the acting* supremely fine — but every one felt that things would come right at last. Not so with " Ruy Bias." Near the close of the first act, at scene the third, we know perfectly well that it is a tragedy before us. The fatal words of the hero overheard by the remorseless Don Salluste unloose the stream which is to carry him to perdition : — " Oh ! mon ame an demon ! Je la vendrais, pour §tre Un des jeunes seigneurs que, de cette fenetre, Je vois en ce moment." "My sonl Is given over, I would sell it might I thus become like one of those young lords That from this window I behold." It is a realization of the mediaeval legend. He has his wish and his heart's desire, but in consequence wave after wave arises to bear him on to his doom. To those who will read between the lines, Ruy Bias is surely full of the noblest and most Christian teaching. We pity, it is true, the sorely tried and tempted, but we know as a fact in ethics — and therefore a truth to be upheld in Art — that retribution must follow wrong-doing'. And as Victor Hug"o may be considered the greatest dramatist since Shakespeare, he knew well that his work must be a tragedy. But it is so supreme and perfectly moulded a work of art because he has, in its proper place, brig-htened the drama with rich comedy. In this he resembles our own great poet. The wonderful manner in which the character of Don Caesar is EDITOR'S PREFACE. 13 sustained and revealed through dialogues flashing with wit, and incidents only to have been conceived by a real humorist — proclaims t lie master. Surely there is consummate art in separating the third from the fifth act by a series of scenes, which, though keeping the motive of the play well in view, gives the spectator rest from the culminating excitement of the one, before witnessing the struggle and pathos of the other. Never let the moralist for- get that in the end Ruy Bias is the conqueror — conquering even himself, and saving the poor outraged Queen. But the death penalty is inevitable, for Nemesis is never absent from the " personages " of Hugo's dramas. And now I beg leave to say a very few words of myself. If these translations of mine should prove the last work of a pen that for nearly fifty years has been busy in many depart- ments of literature, I hope I shall be justified in the estimation of thoughtful readers. There is such a glow of eternal youth about Hugo's works, that I rather rejoice at finding myself capable of being fascinated by them. The world is always young ! Somewhere always noble natures are aspiring, and young hearts beating with their first awakening to a master passion. To faithfully portray the struggles of the heart is one of the poet's missions, and surely in depicting in " Hernani " and "Ruy Bias," love and revenge, ambition and loyalty, remorse and despair, the noblest teaching is embodied — teach- ing that appeals to many natures more forcibly in the manner in which it is here presented than in a more solemn and didactic form. I do not deny that here and there a daring thought may displease timid readers — but let them rather turn to those eternal truths which are the basis, the life and spirit of all religious creeds, and which shine luminously in the poetry of Victor Hugo. Let us thank him for the jewels he gives us, and not bring a lens through which to search for the flaws ! Ever is Victor Hugo the defender of the weak and oppressed, 14 EDITOR'S PREFACE. the scorner of selfishness and vice, the teacher of self-sacrifice in the cause of duty, and the upholder of the dignity of woman. It may be that in these matter-of-fact days we require such teaching quite as much as did mankind in the ages which were called darker, and there is little doubt that the greatest of French poets reaches many hearts that have proved insensible to weaker influences. Camilla Crosland. October, 1887. HERNANI: A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS. (15) AUTHOR'S FREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF HEENANI, 1830. NLY a few weeks since, the Author of this drama wrote, concerning a poet who died before matu- rity, as follows : — " * * * At this moment of literary turmoil and contention, whom should we the more pity, those who die, or those who wrestle ? Trulv it is sad to see a poet of twenty years old pass away, to behold a broken lyre, and a future that vanishes; but, is not repose also some advan- tage ? Are there not those around whom calumnies, injuries, hatreds, jealousies, secret wrongs, base treasons incessantly gather; true men, against whom disloyal war is waged ; devoted men, who only seek to bestow on their country one sort of freedom the more, that of art and intelligence ; laborious men, who peaceably pursue their conscientious work, a prey on one side to the vile stratagems of official censure, and on the other exposed too often to the ingrati- tude of even those for whom they toil ; may not such be permitted sometimes to turn their e3^es with envy towards those who have fallen behind them, and who rest in the tomb ? Invideo, said Luther, in the cemetery of Worms, invideo quia quiescunt. " What does it signify ? Young people, take heart. If the present be made rough for us, the future will be smooth. Roman- ticism, so often ill-defined, is only — and this is its true definition if we look at it from its combative side — liberalism in literature. This truth is already understood by nearly all the best minds, and the number is great; and soon, for the work is well advanced, liberalism in literature will not be less popular than in politics. Liberty in Art, liberty in Society, behold the double end towards which consistent and logical minds should tend ; behold the double banner that rallies the intelligence — with but few exceptions, which will become more enlightened — of all the young who are now so strong and patient ; then, with the young, and at their head the choice spirits of the generation which has preceded us, all those (17) AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE FIRST icious veterans, who, after the first moment of hesitation and examination, discovered thai what their sons are doing to-day is the consequence of what they themselves have achieved, and that Liberty in literature is the offspring* of political liberty. This prin- ciple is that of the age, and will prevail. The Ultras of all sorts. classical and monarchical, will in vain help each other to restore the eld system, broken to pieces, literary and social; all progress of the country, every intellectual development, every stride of lib- erty will have caused their scaffolding to give way. And, indeed, their efforts at reaction will have been useful. In revolution every movement is an advance. Truth and liberty have this excellence, that all one does for and against them serves them equally well. Now, after all the great things that our fathers have done, and that we have beheld, now that we have come out of the old social form, why should there not proceed a new out of the old poetic form ? For a new people, new art. In admiring the literature of Louis the Fourteenth's age, so well adapted to his monarchy, France will know well how to have its own and national literature of the nineteenth century, to which Mirabeau gave its liberty, and Napoleon its power." — Letter to the Publishers of the Poems of 31. Dor a lie. Let the author of this drama be pardoned for thus quoting him- self. His words have so little the power of impressing, that he often needs to repeat them. Besides, at present it is perhaps not out of place to put before readers the two pages just transcribed. It is not this drama which can in any respect deserve the great name of new art or new poetry. Far from that ; but it is that the principle of freedom in literature has advanced a step; it is that Some progress has been made, not in art, this drama is too small a thing for that, but in the public ; it is that in this respect at least one part of the predictions hazarded above has just been realized. There is, indeed, some danger in making changes thus suddenly, and risking on the stage those tentative efforts hitherto confided to paper, which endures everything ; the reading public is very differ- ent from the theatrical public, and one might dread seeing the latter reject what the former had accepted. This has not been the case. The principle of literary freedom already comprehended by the world of readers and thinkers, has not been less fully accepted by that immense crowd, eager for the pure enjoyment of art, which every night fills the theatres of Paris. This loud and powerful voice of the people, likened to the voice of God, declares that hence- forth poetry shall bear the same device as politics : Toleration and Liberty. Now let the poet come ! He has a public. And whatever may be this freedom, the public wills that in the State it shall be reconciled with order, and in literature with art. Liberty has a wisdom of its own, without which it is not complete. EDITION OF HERNANI, 1830. 19 That the old rules of D'Aubignac should die with the old customs of Cujas is well ; that to a literature of the court should succeed a literature of the people is better still ; but, above all, it is best that an inner voice should be heard from the depths of all these novelties. Let the principle of liberty work, but let it work well. In letters, as in society, not etiquette, not anarchy, but laws. Neither red heels* nor red caps. This is what the public wants, and it wTishes rightly. As for us, in deference to that public which has accepted with so much indul- gence an attempt which merits so little, we give this drama now as it has been represented. Perhaps the day will come when the author will publish it as he conceived it,t indicating and discussing the modifications to which he had to submit. These critical details may be neither uninstructive nor uninteresting, though they seem trifling at present — freedom in art is admitted, the principal ques- tion is settled ; why pause to dwell on secondary questions ? We shall return to them some day, and also speak of them in detail, demolishing by evidence and reason this system of dramatic censure — which is the only obstacle to the freedom of the theatre now that it no longer exists in the public mind. We shall strive at all risks and perils, and by devotion to art, to expose the thousand abuses of this petty inquisition of the intellect, which has, like the other holy office, its secret judges, its masked executioners, its tortures, its mutilations, and its penalty of death. We will tear away, if we can, those swaddling clothes of the police, in which it is shameful that the theatre should be wrapped up in the nineteenth century. At present there is only place for gratitude and thanks. To the public it is that the author addresses his own acknowledgments, and he does so from the depths of his heart. This work, not from its talent, but for conscience' and freedom's sake, has been gener- ously protected from enmities by the public, because the public is also itself always conscientious and free. Thanks, then, be ren- dered to it, as well as to that mighty youthful band which has brought help and favor to the work of a 37oung man as sincere and independent as itself. It was for youth above all that he labored, because it would be a great and real glory to be applauded by the leading young men, who are intelligent, logical, consistent, truly liberal in literature as well as politics — a noble generation, thai opens wide its eyes to look at the truth, and to receive light from all sides. As for his work, he will not speak of it. He accepts the criticisms which it has drawn forth, the most severe as well as the * Red heels, typical of the aristocracy ; red caps, of liberty— or anarchy.— Trans. t This day has long since come, and the translation of Hernani, which is r.<>\v offered to English readers, is from the unnmlilated edition of L836.— TRANS. 20 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. most kindly, because he may profit by all. He dares not flatter himself that every one can at once have understood this drama, of which the Romancero General is the true key. He would will- ingly ask persons whom this work has shocked, to read again Le ( 'id, Don Sanche, Nicomede, or rather all Corneille and all Moliere, those great and admirable poets. Such reading, however much it misrht show the immense inferiority of the author of Hernani, would perhaps render them more indulgent to certain things which have offended them in the form, or the motive, of this drama, In fact, the moment is perhaps not yet come to judge it. Hernani is but the first stone of an edifice which exists fully constructed in the author's mind, the whole of which can alone give value to this drama. Perhaps one day it will not be thought ill that his fancy, like that of the architect of Bourges, puts a door almost Moorish to his Gothic Cathedral. Meanwhile, what he has done is but little, and he knows it. May time and power to proceed with his work not fail him ! It will but have worth when it is completed. He is not one of those privileged poets who can die or break off before they have finished without peril to their memory ; he is not of those who remain great even without having completed their work — happ37 men, of whom one may say what Virgil said of Carthage traced out : — Pendent opera interrupta mina?que Murorum ingentes. March 9th, 1830. PERSONAGES OF THE DRAMA. Hkrnanl Don Carlos. Don Ruy Gomez de Silva. Dona Sol de Silva. The King of Bohemia. The Duke of Bavaria. The Duke of Gotha. The Baron of Hohenbourg. The Duke of Lutzelbourg. Don Sancho. Don Matias. Don Ricardo. Don Garcie Suarez. Don Francisco. Don Juan de Haro. Don Pedro Gusman de Lara. Don Gil Tellez Giron. Dona Josefa Duarte. Jaquez. A Mountaineer. A Lady. First Conspirator. Second Conspirator. Third Conspirator. Conspirators of the Holy League, Germans and Spaniards, Mountaineers, Nobles, Soldiers, Pages, Attendants, etc. Spain, a.d. 1519. (21) HERNANI. ACT FIRST: THE KING. Scene 1.— Saragossa. A Chamber, Night: a lamp on the fable Dona Josefa Duartb, an old woman dressed in black, with body of her dress worked in jet in the fashion of Isa- bella the Catholic. Don Carlos. Dona Josefa, atone. She draws the crimson curtains of the window, and puts some armchairs in order. A knock at a little secret door on the right. SJie listens. A second knock. Dona Josefa. Can it be he already ? [Another knock. ?T is, indeed, At th' hidden stairway. [A fourth knock. I must open quick. [She opens the concealed door. Don Carlos enters, his face muffled in his cloak, and his hat drawn over his broivs. Good evening* to you, sir ! [She ushers him in. He drops his cloak and reveals a rich dress of silk and velvet in the Castilian style of 1519. She looks at him closely, and, recoils astonished. What now ? — not you, Signor Hernani ! Fire ! fire ! Help, oh help ! Don Carlos (seizing her by the arm). But two words more, Duenna, and you die ! [He looks at her intently. She is frightened into silence. Is this the room of Dona Sol, betrothed (23) 24 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. To her old uncle, Duke de Pastrana ? A very worthy lord he is — senile, White-hair 'd and jealous. Tell me, is it true The beauteous Dona loves a smooth-faced youth, All whiskerless as yet, and sees him here Each night, in spite of envious care? Tell me, Am I informed aright ? [She is silent. He shakes her by the arm. Will you not speak ? Dona Josefa. You did forbid me, sir, to speak two words. Don Carlos. One will suffice. I want a yes, or no. Say, is thy mistress Dona Sol de Silva ? Dona Josefa. Yes, why ? Don Carlos. ]STo matter why. Just at this hour The venerable lover is away ? Dona Josefa. He is. Don Carlos. And she expects the young- one now? Dona Josefa. Yes. Don Carlos. Oh, that I could die ! Dona Josefa. Yes. Don Carlos. Say, Duenna, Is this the place where they will surely meet ? Dona Josefa. Yes. Don Carlos. Hide me somewhere here. L] HERNANL Dona Josefa. You? Don Carlos. Yes, me. Dona Josefa. Don Carlos. Why ? • No matter wiry. Dona Josefa. I hide you here ! Don Carlos. Yes, here. Dona Josefa. No, never ! Don Carlos (drawing from his girdle a purse and a dagger). Madam, condescend to choose Between a purse and dagger. Dona Josefa (taking the purse). Are you then The devil ? Don Carlos. Yes, Duenna. Dona Josefa (opening a narrow cupboard in the wall). Go — go in. » Don Carlos (examining the cupboard). This box ! Dona Josefa (shutting up the cupboard). If you don't like it, go away. Don Carlos (re-opening cupboard). And yet ! [Again examining it. Is this the stable where you keep The broom-stick that you ride on? [He crouches down in the cupboard with difficulty. Oh ! oh ! oh ! DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. Dona Josefa (joining her hands and looking ashamed). A man here ! Don Carlos (from the cupboard, still open). And was it a woman then Your mistress here expected ? Dona Josefa. Heavens ! I hear The step of Dona Sol ! Sir, shut the door ! Quick — quick ! [She pushes the cupboard door, which closes. Don Carlos (from the closed cupboard). Remember, if you breathe a word You die ! Dona Josefa (alone). Who is this man ? If I cry out, Gracious ! there's none to hear. All are asleep Within the palace walls — Madam and I Excepted. Pshaw ! the other'll come. He wears A sword ; 'tis his affair. And Heav'n keep us From powers of hell. [Weighing the purse in her hand. At least no thief he is. Enter Dona Sol in ichite. (Dona Josefa hides the purse.) Scene 2. — Dona Josefa; Don Carlos, hidden; Dona Sol: afterwards Hernani. Dona Sol. Josefa ! Dona Josefa. Madam ? Dona Sol. I some mischief dread, For 'tis full time Hernani should be here. [Noise of steps at the secret door. Scene II.] HERNANL ^ Il^'s coming up; go — quick! at. once, undo Ere he lias time to knock. [Josera opens the little door. Enter Hernani in large cloak and large hid; underneath, cost tune of mountaineer of Aragon — gray, with a cuirass of leather; a sicoi-d, a dagger, and a horn at his girdle. Dona Sol {going to him). Hernani ! Oh ! Hernani. Ah, Dona Sol ! it is yourself at last I see — your voice it is I hear. Oh, why Does cruel fate keep you so far from me? I have such need of you to help my heart Forget all else ! Dona Sol (touching his clothes). Oh ! Heav'ns ! your cloak is drench'd ! The rain must pour ! Hernani. I know not. You must be cold ! Dona Sol. Hernani. I feel it not. Dona Sol. And the cold — Take off This cloak then, pray. Hernani. Dona, beloved, tell me, When night brings happy sleep to you, so pure And innocent — sleep that half opes your mouth, Closing your eyes with its light finger-touch — Does not some angel show how dear you are To an unhappy man, by all the world Abandoned and repulsed? 28 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. Dona Sol. Sir, you are late; But tell me, are you cold? Hernani. Not near to you. Ah ! when the raging fire of jealous love Burns in the veins, and the true heart is riven By its own tempest, we feel not the clouds O'erhead, though storm and lightning* they fling forth ! Dona Sol. Come, give me now the cloak, and your sword too. Hernani (his hand on his sivord). No. 'Tis my other love, faithful and pure. The old Duke, Dona Sol — your promised spouse, Your uncle — is he absent now? Dona Sol. Oh, yes; This hour to us belongs. Hernani. And that is all! Only this hour ! and then comes afterwards ! — What matter ! For I must forget or die ! Angel ! one hour with thee — with whom I would Spend life, and afterwards eternity ! Dona Sol. Hernani ! Hernani. It is happiness to know The Duke is absent. I am like a thief Who forces doors. I enter — see you — rob An old man of an hour of your sweet voice And looks. And I am happy, though, no doubt He would deiry me e'en one hour, although He steals my very life. Dona Sol. Be calm. [Giving the cloak to the Duenna. S< bsnb 11. | HERNANL 29 Josefa ! This wet cloak take and dry it. [Exit JOSBPA. [She seats herself, and makes a sign for Hernani to draw near. Now conic here. Hernani {without appearing to hear her). The Duke, then, is not in the mansion now? Dona Sol. How grand you look ! Hernani. He is away ? Dona Sol. Dear one, Let us not think about the Duke. Hernani. Madam, But let us think of him, the grave old man Who loves you — who will marry you ! How now ? He took a kiss from you the other day. Not think of him ! Dona Sol. Is't that which grieves you thus ? A kiss upon my brow — an uncle's kiss — Almost a father's. Hernani. No, not so ; it was A lover's, husband's, jealous kiss. To him — To him it is that you will soon belong. Think 'st thou not of it ! Oh, the foolish dotard, With head drooped down to finish out his days ! Wanting a wife, he takes a girl ; himself Most like a frozen spectre. Sees he not, The senseless one ! that while with one hand he Espouses you, the other mates with Death ! Yet without shudder comes he 'twixt our hearts ! Seek out the grave-digger, old man, and give Thy measure. DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. Who is it that makes for you This marriage ? You are forced to it, I hope ? Dona Sol. They say the king- desires it. Hern ant. King" ! this king* ! My father on the scaffold died condemned By his ; * and, though one may have aged since then — For e'en the shadow of that king, his son, His widow, and for all to him allied, My hate continues fresh. Him dead, no more We count with ; but while still a child I swore That I'd avenge my father on his son. » I sought him in all places — Charles the King Of the Castiles. For hate is rife between Our families. The fathers wrestled long- And without pity, and without remorse, For thirty years ! Oh; 'tis in vain that they Are dead ; their hatred lives. For them no peace Has come ; their sons keep up the duel still. Ah ! then I find 'tis thou who hast made up This execrable marriage ! Thee I sought — Thou comest in nry way ! Dona Sol. You frighten me ! Hernani. Charged with the mandate of anathema, I frighten e'en myself ; but listen now : This old, old man, for whom they destine you, This Ruy de Silva, Duke de Pastrana, Count and grandee, rich man of Aragon, * It is questionable if the author really meant the father of Charles the Fifth, Philip the Handsome, son of the Emperor of Germany, though Philip was for a short time Regent, in consequence of the mental incapacity of his wife Joanna. Possibly, taking a poetical license, Victor Hugo wished to indicate the grand- father, King Ferdinand. They were equally capable of exercising tyranny and oppression, and Philip was powerful in Spain long before he became Regent: he, however, died too young for the animosity to have raged so many years as the text implies.— TRANS. Scene LI.] UEENANL n In place of youth can give thee, ohl young girl, Such store of gold and jewels that your brow Will shine 'mong royalty's own diadems; And for your rank and wealth, and pride and state, Queens many will perhaps envy you. See, then, Jiisi what he is. And now consider me. My poverty is absolute, 1 say. Only the forest, where I ran barefoot In childhood, did 1 know. Although perchance I too can claim illustrious blazonry, That's dimm'd just now by rusting stain of blood. Perchance I've rights, i hough they are shrouded still. And hid neath ebon folds of scaffold cloth, Yet which, if my attempt one day succeeds, May, with my sword from out their sheath leap forth. Meanwhile, from jealous Heaven I've received But air, and light, and water — gifts bestowed On all. Now, wish you from the Duke, or me, To be delivered ? You must choose 'twixt us, Whether you marrv him, or follow me. Doxa Sol. You, I will follow ! Hernani. 'Mong companions rude, Men all proscribed, of whom the headsman knows The names already. Men whom neither steel Nor touch of pity softens ; each one urged By some blood feud that's personal. Wilt thou Then come? They'd call thee mistress of my band, For know you not that I a bandit am? When I was hunted throughout Spain, alone In thickest forests, and on mountains steep, 'Mong rocks which but the soaring eagle spied, Old Catalonia like a mother proved. Among her hills — free, poor, and stern — I grew ; And now, to-morrow if this horn should sound, Three thousand men would rally at the call. You shudder, and should pause to ponder well. Thmk what 'twill prove to follow me through woods DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. And over mountain paths, with comrades like The fiends that come in dreams ! To live in fear, Suspicious of a sound, of voices, eyes : To sleep upon the earth, drink at the stream, And hear at night, while nourishing' perchance Some wakeful babe, the whistling* musket balls. To be a wanderer with me proscribed, And when my father I shall follow — then, E'en to the scaffold, you to follow me ! Dona Sol. I'll follow you. Hernani. The Duke is wealthy, great And prosperous, without a stain upon His ancient name. He offers you his hand, And can give all things — treasures, dignities, And pleasure Dona Sol. We'll set out to-morrow. Oh ! Hernani, censure not th' audacity Of this decision. Are you angel mine Or demon ? Only one tiling do I know, That I'm your slave. Now, listen : wheresoe'er You go, I go — pause you or move I'm yours. Why act I thus ? Ah ! that I cannot tell ; Only I want to see you evermore. When sound of your receding footstep dies * I feel my heart stops beating ; without you Myself seems absent, but when I detect Again the step I love, my soul comes back, I breathe — I live once more. Hernani (embracing her). Oh ! angel mine ! Dona Sol. At midnight, then, to-morrow, clap your hands Three times beneath my window, bringing there Your escort. Go ! I shall be strong and brave. Hernani. Now know you who I am ? Scbnb 11. | HERNANL 33 Dona Sol. ( )nly my lord. Enough — what matters else? — I follow you. Hernani. Not so. Since you, a woman weak, decide To come with me, 'tis right that you should know What- name, what, rank, what soul, perchance what fate There hides beneath the low Hernani here. Yes, you have willed to link yourself for aye With brigand — would you still with outlaw mate? Don Carlos (opening the cupboard). When will you finish all this history ? Think you 'tis pleasant in this cupboard hole? [Hernani recoils, astonished. Dona Sol screams and, takes refuge in Hernani's arms, looking at Don Carlos with frightened gaze. Hernani (his hand on the hilt of Jiis sword). Who is this man ? Dona Sol. Oh, heavens, help ! Hernani. Be still, My Dona Sol ! you'll wake up dangerous eyes. Never — whatever he — while I am near, Seek other help than mine. (To Don Carlos.) What do you here ? Don Carlos. I ? — Well, I am not riding through the wood, That you should ask. Hernani. He who affronts, then jeers, May cause his heir to laugh. Don Carlos. Each, Sir, in turn. Let us speak frankly. You the lady love, And come each night to mirror in her eyes Your own. I love her too, and want to know Hugo. Vol. V.— 3 34 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. Who 'tis I have so often seen come in The window way, while I stand at the door. Herxaxi. Upon my word, I'll send you out the way I enter. Dox Carlos. As to that we'll see. My love I olTcr unto Madam. Shall wre then Ag'ree to share it ? In her beauteous soul I've seen so much of tenderness, and love, And sentiment, that she, I'm very sure, Has quite enough for ardent lovers twain. Therefore to-night, washing to end suspense On your account, I forced an entrance, hid, And — to confess it all — I listened too. But I heard badly, and was nearly choked; And then I crumpled my French vest — and so, By Jove ! come out I must ! Herxaxi. Likewise my blade Is not at ease, and hurries to leap out. Dox Carlos (boiuing). Sir, as you please. Herxaxi (draiving his sicorxJ). Defend yourself ! [Dox Carlos dirties his sivord. Doxa Sol. Oh, Heaven ! Dox Carlos. Be calm, Sefiora. Herxaxi (to Dox Carlos). Tell me, Sir, your name. Dox Carlos. Tell me yours ! Herxaxi. It is a fatal secret, Kept for my breathing in another's ear, S< bnb 11. | HEBNANL 35 Some day when I am conqueror, with my knee Upon his breast, and dagger in his heart. Don Carlos. Then tell to me this other's name. Hernani. To thee What matters it? On guard! Defend thyself! [They cross swords. Dona Sol falls trembling into a chair. They hear knocks at the door. Dona Sol {rising in alarm). Oh Heavens! there's sonic one knocking at the door! [The champions pause. Enter Josefa, at the little door, in a frightened state. Hernani (to Josefa). Who knocks in this way ? Dona Josefa (to Dona Sol). Madame, a surprise ! An unexpected blow. It is the Duke Come home. Dona Sol (clasping her hands). The Duke ! Then every hope is lost ! Dona Josefa (looking round). Gracious ! the stranger out ! and swords, and fighting ! Here's a fine business ! [The two combatants sheathe their sivords. Don Carlos draws his cloak round him, and pulls his hat down on his forehead. More knocking. Hernani. What is to be done ? [More knocking. A Voice (without). Dona Sol, open to me. [Dona Josefa is going to the door, when Hernani stops her. Hernani. Do not open. 3G DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. Dona Josefa (pulling out her rosary). Holy St. James ! now draw us through this broil ! [More knocking. Hernani {pointing to the cupboard). Let's hide ! Don Carlos. What ! in the cupboard ? Hernani. Yes, go in ; I will take care that it shall hold us both. Don Carlos. Thanks. No ; it is too good a joke. Hernani {pointing to secret door). Let's fly That way. Don Carlos. Good night ! But as for me I stay Here. Hernani. Fire and fury, Sir, we will be quits For this. {To Dona Sol.) What if I firmly barr'd the door? Don Carlos (to Josefa). Open the door. Hernani. What is it that he says ? Don Carlos (to Josefa, who hesitates bewildered). Open the door, I say. [More knocking. Josefa opens the door, trembling. Dona Sol. Oh, I shall die ! Scene 3. — The same, with Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, in black; ivhite hair and beard. Servants with lights. Don Ruy Gomez. My niece with two men at this hour of night ! Come all ! The thing is worth exposing here. BCBNE 111. | HEBNANL V (To Dona Sol.) Now by St. John of Avila, I vow Thai we three with you, madam, are by two Too many. (To the two young men.) My young Sirs, what do you here ? When we'd the Cid and Bernard— giants both Of Spain and of the world — they travelled through Castile protecting women, honoring Old men. For them sled armor had less weight Than your fine velvets have for you. These men Respected whitened beards, and when they loved, Their love was consecrated by the Church. Never did such men cozen or betray, For reason that they had to keep unflawed The honor of their house. Wished they to wed, They took a stainless wife in open day, Before the world, with sword, or axe, or lance In hand. But as for villains such as you, Who come at eve, peeping behind them oft, To steal away the honor of men's wives In absence of their husbands, I declare, The Cid, our ancestor, had he but known Such men, he would have plucked away from them Nobility usurped, have made them kneel, While he with flat of sword their blazon dashed. Behold what were the men of former times Whom I, with anguish, now compare with these I see to-day ! What do you here ? Is it To say, a white-haired man's but fit for youth To point at when he passes in the street, And jeer at there ? Shall they so laugh at me, Tried soldier of Zamora ? At the least Not yours will be that laugh. Hernani. But Duke Don Ruy Gomez. Be still ! What ! You have sword and lance, falcons, the chase, And songs to sing 'neath balconies at night, Festivals, pleasures, feathers in your hats, 38 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. Raiment of silk — balls, 3'outh, and joy of life ; But wearied of them all, at any price You want a toy, and take an old man for it. Ah, though you've broke the toy, God wills that it In bursting" should be flung back in your face ! Now follow me ! Hernani. Most noble Duke Don Ruy Gomez. Follow Follow me, sirs. Is this alone a jest ? What ! I've a treasure, mine to guard with care, A young girl's character, a family's fame. This girl I love — by kinship to me bound, Pledged soon to change her ring for one from me. I know her spotless, chaste, and pure. Yet when I leave my home one hour, I — Ruy Gomez De Silva — find a thief who steals from me My honor, glides unto my house. Back, back, Make clean your hands, oh base and soulless men, Whose presence, brushing by, must serve to taint Our women's fame! But no, 'tis well. Proceed. Have I not something more ? [Snatches off his collar. Take ^ tread it now Beneath your feet. Degrade my Golden Fleece. [Throws off his hat. Pluck at my hair, insult me every way, And then, to-morrow through the town make boast That lowest scoundrels in their vilest sport Have never shamed a nobler brow, nor soiled More whitened hair. Dona Sol. My lord Don Ruy Gomez (to his servants). A rescue ! grooms ! Bring me nry dagger of Toledo, axe, And dirk. [To the young men. Now follow — follow me — ye two. SCBNB 111. | HERN AN 1 39 Don Caelos {stepping forward a little). Duke, this is not the pressing thing just now; Firs! we've to think of Maximilian dead, The Emperor o( Germany. [Open* his cloak, (tint slows his face, previously hidden by his hat. Don Ruy Gomez. Jest you ! Heavens, the King ! Dona Sol. The Kin.-! ■ Hernani. The King of Spa i n ! Don Carlos (gravely). Yes, Charles, my noble Duke, are thy wits gone? The Emperor, my grandsire, is no more. I knew it not until this eve, and came At once to tell it you and counsel ask, Incognito, at night, knowing you well A loyal subject that I much regard. The thing is very simple that has caused This hubbub. [Don Ruy Gomez sends away servants by a sign, and approaches Don Carlos. Dona Sol looks at The King with fear and surprise. Hernani from a corner regards him with flashing eyes. Don Ruy Gomez. But oh, why was it the door Was not more quickly opened ? Don Carlos. Reason good. Remember all your escort. When it is A weighty secret of the state I bear That brings me to your palace, it is not To tell it to thy servants. Don Ruy Gomez. Highness, oh ! Forgive me, some appearances 40 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. Don Carlos. Good father, Thee Governor of the Castle of Figuere I've made. But whom thy governor shall I make? Don Ruy Gomez. Oh, pardon Don Carlos. 'Tis enough. Well say no more Of this. The Emperor is dead. Don Ruy Gomez. Your Highness 's Grandfather dead ! Don Carlos. Ay ! Duke, you see me here In deep affliction. Don Ruy Gomez. Who'll succeed to him ? Don Carlos. A Duke of Saxony is named. The throne Francis the First of France aspires to mount. Don Ruy Gomez. Where do the Electors of the Empire meet ? Don Carlos. They say at Aix-la-Chapelle, or at Spire, Or Frankfort. Don Ruy Gomez. But our King, whom God preserve ! Has he not thought of Empire ? Don Carlos. Constantly. Don Ruy Gomez. To you it should revert. Don Carlos. I know it, Duke. Don Ruy Gomez. Your father was Archduke of Austria. I hope 'twill be remembered that you are Scene lll.| HERNANL n Grandson to him, who but just now has changed Th' imperial purple Cor a winding-sheet. Don Carlos. I am, besides, a citizen of Ghent. Don Ruy Gomez. In my own youth your grandfather I saw. Alas ! I am the sole survivor now Of all that generation past. All dead ! He was an Emperor magnificent And mighty. Don Carlos. Rome is for me. Don Ruy Gomez. Valiant, firm, And not tyrannical, this head might well Become th' old German hotly. [He bends over The King's hands and kisses them.] Yet so young. I pity you indeed, thus plunged in such A sorrow. Don Carlos. Ah ! the Pope is anxious now To get back Sicily — the isle that's mine ; 'Tis ruled that Sicily cannot belong Unto an Emperor ; therefore it is That he desires me Emperor to be made; And then, to follow that, as docile son I give up Naples too. Let us but have The Eagle, and we'll see if I allow Its wings to be thus clipp'd ! Don Ruy Gomez. What joy 'twould be For this great veteran of the throne to see Your brow, so fit, encircled by his crown ! Ah, Highness, we together weep for him, The Christian Emperor, so good, so great ! Don Carlos. The Holy Father's clever. He will say — This isle unto my States should come ; 'tis but 42 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. A tatter'd rag that scarce belongs to Spain. What will you do with this ill-shapen isle That's sewn upon the Empire by a thread ? Your Empire is ill-made ; but quick, come here, The scissors bring-, and let us cut away ! — Thanks, Holy Father, but if I have luck I think that many pieces such as this Upon the Holy Empire will be sewn ! And if some rags from me are ta'en, I mean With isles and duchies to replace them all. Don Ruy Gomez. Console yourself, for we shall see again The dead more holy and more great. There is An Empire of the Just. Don Carlos. Francis the First Is all ambition. The old Emperor dead, Quick he'll turn wooing. Has he not fair France Most Christian ? 'Tis a place worth holding fast. Once to King Louis did my grand sire say — If I were God, and had two sons, I'd make The elder God, the second, King of France. [to Don Ruy Gomez. Think vou that Francis has a chance to win ? Don Ruy Gomez. He is a victor. Don Carlos. There 'd be all to change — The golden bull doth foreigners exclude. Don Ruy Gomez. In a like manner, Highness, you would be Accounted King of Spain. Don Carlos. But I was born A citizen of Ghent. Don Ruy Gomez. His last campaign Exalted Francis mightily. S< bsnb IIL] HERNANL 43 Don Carlos. The Eagle That soon perchance upon my helm will gleam Knows also how to open out its wings. Don Ruy Gomez. And knows your Highness Latin? Don Carlos. Ah, not much. Don Ruy Gomez. A pity that. The German nobles like The best those who in Latin speak to them. Don Carlos. With haughty Spanish they will be content, For trust King Charles, 'twill be of small account, When masterful the voice, what tongue, it speaks. To Flanders I must go. Your King, dear Duke, Must Emperor return. The King of France Will stir all means. I must be quick to win. I shall set out at once. Don Ruy Gomez. Do you then go, Oh Highness, without clearing Aragon Of those fresh bandits who, among the hills, Their daring insolence show everywhere ? Don Carlos. To the Duke d'Arcos I have orders giv That hevshould quite exterminate the band. Don Ruy Gomez. But is the order given to its Chief To let the thing be done ? Don Carlos. Who is this Chief— His name ? Don Ruy Gomez. I know not. But the people say That he's an awkward customer. 44 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. Don Carlos. Pshaw ! I know That now he somewhere in Galicia hides ; With a few soldiers, soon we'll capture him. Don Ruy Gomez. Then it was false, the rumor which declared That he was hereabouts? Don Carlos. Quite false. Thou canst Accommodate me here to-night. Don Ruy Gomez (boiving to the ground). Thanks ! Thanks ! Highness ! (He calls his servants.) You'll do all honor to the King, My guest. [The servants re-enter with lights. The Duke arranges them in two rows to the door at the back. Meanwhile Dona Sol approaches Her- nani softly. The King observes them. Dona Sol (to Hernani). To-morrow, midnight, without fail Beneath my window clap your hands three times. Hernani (softly). To-morrow night. Don Carlos (aside). To-morrow ! [Aloud to Dona Sol, whom he approaches with politeness. Let me now Escort you hence, I pray. [He leads her to the door. She goes out, Hernani (his hand in his breast on dagger hilt). My dagger true ! Don Carlos (coming back, aside). Our man here has the look of being trapp'd. [He takes Hernani aside. I've crossed my sword with yours; that honor, sir, I've granted you. For many reasons I S< bne 1V.| HERNANL Suspect you much, but to betray you now Would shame the king; go therefore freely. E'en 1 deign to aid your flight . Don Urv Gomez {coming back, and pointing to Hernani) rrins lord— who's he? Don Carlos. One of my followers, who'll soon depart. [They <>"f with servants and lights, the Duke pre- ceding with waxlight in his hand. Scene 4. — Hernani alone. Hernani. One of thy followers! 1 am, oh King! Well said. For night and day and step by stop I follow thee, with eye upon thy path And dagger in my hand. My race in me Pursues thy race in thee. And now behold Thou art my rival ! For an instant I 'Twixt love and hate was balanced in the scale. Not large enough my heart for her and thee ; In loving her oblivious I became Of all my hate of thee. But since 'tis thou That comes to will I should remember it, I recollect. My love it is that tilts TV uncertain balance, while it falls entire Upon the side of hate. Thy follower ! 'Tis thou hast said it. Never courtier yet Of thy accursed court, or noble, fain To kiss thy shadow — not a seneschal With human heart abjured in serving thee ; No dog within the palace, trained the King To follow, will thy steps more closely haunt And certainty than I. What they would have, These famed grandees, is hollow title, or Some toy that shines — some golden sheep to hang- About the neck. Not such a fool am I. What I would have is not some favor vain, But 'tis tlry blood, won by my conquering steel — 46 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act II. Thy soul from out thy body forced — with all That at the bottom of thy heart was reached After deep delving1. Go — you arc in front — I follow thee. My watchful vengeance walks With me, and whispers in mine ear. Go where Thou wilt I'm there to listen and to spy, And noiselessly my step will press on thine. No day, shouldst thou but turn thy head, oh King, But thou wilt find me, motionless and grave, At festivals; at night, should'st thou look back, Still wilt thou see my flaming eyes behind. [Exit by the little door. SECOND ACT: THE BANDIT. Saragossa. Scene 1. — A square before the Palace of Silva. On the left the high walls of the Palace, iviih a tvindoiv and a bal- cony. Peloid the ivindoiv a little door. To the right, at the back, houses of the street. Night. Here and there are a few windows still lit up, shining in the front of the houses. Don Carlos, Don Sancho Sanchez de Zuniga Comte de Monterey, Don Matias Centurion Marquis d'Almu- nan, Don Ricardo de Roxas Lord of Casapalma. All four arrive, Don Carlos ai the head, hats pulled down, and wrapped in long cloaks, ichich their swords inside raise up. Don Carlos {looking up at the balcony). Behold ! We're at the balcony — the door. My heart is bounding. [Pointing to the ivindow, which is dark. Ah, no light as yet. [He looks at the windows where light shines. Although it shines just where I'd have it not, While where I wish for light is dark. S< bsnb l.| HERNANI. 47 Don Sancho. Your Highness, Now let us of this traitor speak again. And you permitted him to go! Don Carlos. 'Tis true. Don Matias. And he, perchance, was Major of the band. Don Carlos. Were lie the Major or the Captain e'en, No crown'd king ever had a haughtier air. Don Sancho. Highness, his name? Don Carlos (his eyes fixed on the ivindoiv). Mufioz Fernan (With gesture of a man suddenly recollecting.) A name In i. Don Sancho. Perchance Hernani ? Don Carlos. Yes. Don Sancho. 'Twas he. Don Matias. The chief, Hernani ! Don Sancho. Cannot you recall His speech ? Don Carlos. Oh, I heard nothing in the vile And wretched cupboard. Don Sancho. Wherefore let him slip When there you had him ? 48 DRAMAS OF > VICTOR HUGO. [Act II. Don Carlos (turning round gravely and looking him in the face.) Count de Monterey, You question me ! [The two nobles step back, and are silent. Besides, it was not he Was in my mind. It was his mistress, not His head, I wanted. Madly I'm in love With two dark eyes, the loveliest in the world, My friends ! Two mirrors, and two rays ! two flames ! I heard but of their histoiy these wTords : "To-morrow come at midnight." 'T was enough. The joke is excellent ! For while that he, The bandit lover, by some murd'rous deed Some grave to dig, is hindered and delayed, I softly take his dove from out its nest. Don Ricardo. Highness, 'twould make the thing far more complete If wTe, the dove in gaining, killed the kite. Don Carlos. Count, 'tis most capital advice. Your hand Is prompt. Don Ricardo (boiving low). And by what title will it please The King that I be Count ? Don Sancho. 'Twas a mistake. Don Ricardo (to Don Sancho). The King has called me Count. Don Carlos. Enough — enough ! (to Don Ricardo.) I let the title fall ; but pick it up. Don Ricardo (boiving again). Thanks, Highness. Scene 1.] HERNANL 49 Don Sancho. A fine Count — Count by mistake ! [The King walks to the back of the stage, watching eagerly the lighted windows. The two lords tall: together at the front. Don Matias (to Don Sancho). What think you that the King will do, when once The beauty's taken ? Don Sancho (looking sideways at Don Ricardo). Countess she'll be made ; Lady of honor afterwards, and then, If there's a son, he will be King". Don Matias. How so ? — My Lord ! a bastard ! Let him be a Count. Were one His Highness, would one choose as king A Countess' son ? Don Sancho. He'd make her Marchioness Ere then, dear Marquis. Don Matias. Bastards — they are kept For conqucr'd countries. They for viceroys serve. [Don Carlos comes forward. Don Carlos (looking with vexation at the lighted windows). Might one not say they're jealous eyes that watch ? Ah ! there are two which darken ; we shall do. Weary the time of expectation seems — Sirs, who can make it go more quickly ? Don Sancho. That Is what we often ask ourselves within The palace. Don Carlos. 'Tis the thing my people say Again with you. [The last window light is extinguished. The last light now is gone. (Turning towards the balcony of Dona Sol, still dark.) Hugo. Vol. V.— 4 50 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act II. Oh, hateful window! When wilt thou light up? The night is dark; come, Dona Sol, and shine Like to a star ! (to Don Ricardo). Is 't midnight yet ? Don Ricardo. Almost. Don Carlos. Ah ! we must finish, for the other one At any moment may appear. [A light appears in Dona Sol's chamber. Her shadow is seen through the glass. My friends ! A lamp ! and she herself seen through the pane ! Never did da37break charm me as this sight. Let's hasten with the signal she expects. We must clap hands three times. An instant more And you will see her. But our number, perhaps, Will frighten her. Go, all three out of sight Be3Tond there, watching for the man we want, 'Twixt us, my friends, we'll share the loving pair. For me the girl — the brigand is for you. Don Ricardo. Best thanks. Don Carlos. If he appear from ambuscade, Rush quickly, knock him down, and, while the dupe Recovers from the blow, it is for me To carry safely off the darling prize. We'll laugh anon. But kill him not outright, He's brave, I own ; — killing's a grave affair. [The lords bow and go. Don Carlos waits till they are quite gone, then claps his hands twice. At the second time the window opens, and Dona Sol appears on the balcony. Scene EL] HERNANL 51 Scene 2. — Don Carlos. Dona Sol. Dona Sol (from the balcony). Hernani, is that you ? Don Carlos (aside). The devil ! We must Not parley ! [He claps his hands again. Dona Sol. I am coming down. [She closes the window, and the light disappears. The next minute the little door opens, and she comes out, the lamp in her hand, and a mantle over her shoulders. Dona Sol. Hernani ! [Don Carlos pulls his hat down on his face, and hurries toivards her. Dona Sol (letting her lamp fall). Heavens ! 'Tis not his footstep ! [She attempts to go back, but Don Carlos runs to her and seizes her by the arm. Don Carlos. Dona Sol ! Dona Sol. Tis not his voice ! Oh, misery ! Don Carlos. What voice Is there that thou could 'st hear that would be more A lover's ? It is still a lover here, And King" for one. Dona Sol. The King ! Don Carlos. Ah ! wish, command, A kingdom waits thy will ; for he whom thou Hast vanquish'd is the King, thy lord — 'tis Charles, Thy slave ! 52 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act II. Dona Sol (trying to escape from him). To the rescue ! Help, Hernani ! Help ! Don Carlos. Thy fear is maidenly, and worthy thee. 'Tis not thy bandit — 'tis thy King* that holds Thee now ! Dona Sol. Ah, no. The bandit's you. Are you Not 'shamed? The blush unto my own cheek mounts For you. Are these the exploits to be noised Abroad ? A woman thus at night to seize ! My bandit's worth a hundred of such king's ! I do declare, if man were born at level Of his soul, and God made rank proportional To his heart, he would be king and prince, and you The robber be ! Don Carlos (trying to entice her). Madam ! Dona Sol. Do you forget My father was a Count ? A Duchess. Don Carlos. And you I'll make Dona Sol (repulsing him). Cease ! All this is shameful ; — go ! [She retreats a feic steps. Nothing, Don Carlos, can there 'twixt us be. My father for you freely shed his blood. I am of noble birth, and heedful ever Of nry name's purity. I am too high To be your concubine — too low to be Your wife. Don Carlos. Princess ! Dona Sol. Carry to worthless girls, King Charles, your vile addresses. Or, if me Scene II.] HERNANL 53 You treat insultingly, I'll show you well That I'm a woman, and a noble dame. Don Carlos. Well, then but come, and you shall share my throne, My name — you shall bo Queen and Empress Dona Sol. It is a snare. Besides, I frankly speak, Since, Highness, it concerns you. I avow I'd rather with my king, Hernani, roam, An outcast from the world and from the law — Know thirst and hunger, wandering- all the year, Sharing the hardships of his destiny — Exile and warfare, mourning" hours of terror, Than be an Empress with an Emperor ! Don Carlos. Oh, happy man is he ! Dona Sol. What ! poor, proscribed ! Don Carlos. 'Tis well with him, though poor, proscribed he be, For he's beloved ! — an angel watches him ! I'm desolate. You hate me, then? Dona Sol. I love You not. Don Carlos (seizing her violently). Well, then, it matters not to me Whether you love me, or you love me not ! You shall come with me — yes, for that my hand's The stronger, and I will it ! And we'll see If I for nothing am the King of Spam And of the Indies ! Dona Sol (struggling). Highness ! Pity me ! You're King, you only have to choose among The Countesses, the Duchesses, the great No. DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act II. Court ladies, all have love prepared to meet And answer yours ; but what has my proscribed Received from niggard fortune ? You possess Castile and Aragon — Murcia and Leon, Navarre, and still ten kingdoms more. Flanders, And India with the mines of gold you own, An empire without peer, and all so vast That ne'er the sun sets on it. And when you, The King-, have all, would 3^ou take me, poor girl, From him who has but me alone. [She throws herself on her knees. He tries to draw her up. Don Carlos. Come — come ! I cannot listen. Come with me. I'll give Of Spain a fourth part unto thee. Say, now, What wilt thou ? Choose. Dona Sol (struggling in his arms). For mine own honor's sake I'll only from your Highness take this dirk. [She snatches the poignard from his girdle. Approach me now but by a step ! Don Carlos. The beauty ! I wonder not she loves a rebel now. [He makes a step toivards her. She raises the dirk. Dona Sol. Another step, I kill you — and myself. [He retreats again. She turns and cries aloud. Hernani ! Oh, Hernani ! Don Carlos. Peace ! Dona Sol. And all is finished. One step, Don Carlos. Madam, to extremes I'm driven. Yonder there I have three men To force you — followers of mine. Scene ill.] HERNANL ^ Heknani {coming suddenly behind him). But one You have forgotten. [The Kin(J funis, and sees Hernani motionless be- hind him in the shade, Jus onus crossed under the long cloak which is wrapped round him, and, the brim of his hat raised up. Dona Sol makes an exclamation and runs to him. Scene 3. — Don Carlos, Dona Sol, Hernani. Hernani (motionless, his arms still crossed, and his fiery eyes fixed on the King). Heaven my witness is, That far from here it was I wished to seek him. Dona Sol. Hernani ! save me from him. Hernani. My dear love, Fear not. Don Carlos. Now what could all my friends in town Be doing-, thus to let pass by the chief Of the Bohemians ? Ho ! Monterey ! Hernani. Your friends are in the hands of mine just now, So call not on their powerless swords ; for three That you might claim, sixty to me would come Each one worth four of yours. So let us now Our quarrel terminate. What ! you have dared To lay a hand upon this girl ! It was An act of folly, great Castilian King-, And one of cowardice ! Don Carlos. Sir Bandit, hold ! There must be no reproach from you to me ! Hernani. He jeers ! Oh, I am not a king ; but when A king" insults me, and above all jeers, 5U DILI MAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act II. My anger swells and surges up, and lifts Me to his height. Take care ! When I'm offended, Men fear far more the reddening* of my brow Than helm of king. Foolhardy, therefore, you If still you're lured by hope. [Seizes his arm. Know you what hand Now grasps you? Listen. 'Twas your father who Was death of mine. I hate you for it. You My title and my wealth have taken. You 1 hate. And the same woman now we love. I hate — hate — from my soul's depths you I hate. Don Carlos. That's well. Hernani. And yet this night my hate was lull'd. Only one thought, one wish, one want I had — 'Twas Doiia Sol ! And I, absorbed in love, Came here to find you daring against her To strive, with infamous design ! You — you, The man forgot — thus in my pathway placed ! I tell you, King, you are demented ! Ah ! King Charles, now see you're taken in the snare Laid by yourself : and neither flight nor help For thee is possible. I hold thee fast, Besieged, alone, surrounded by thy foes, Bloodthirsty ones, what wilt thou do ? Don Carlos (proudly). Dare you To question me ! Hernani. Pish ! pish ! I would not wish An arm obscure should strike thee. 'Tis not so My vengeance should have play. 'Tis I alone Must deal with thee. Therefore defend thyself. [He draws his sword. Don Carlos. I am your lord, the King. Strike ! but no duel. Scene 111. J HERNANI. 57 Hernani. Highness, thou may'st remember yesterday Thv sword encountered mine. Don Carlos. I yesterday Could do it. I your name knew not, and you Were ignorant of my rank. Not so to-day. You know who I am, I who you are now. Hernani. Perchance. Don Carlos. No duel. You can murder. Do. Hernani. Think you that king's to me are sacred ? Come, Defend thyself. Don Carlos. You will assassinate Me then ? [Hernani falls back. The King looks at him with eagle eyes. Ah ! bandits, so you dare to think That your most vile brigades may safely spread Through towns — ye blood-stained, murderous, miscreant crew — But that you'll play at magnanimity ! As if we'd deign th' ennobling of your dirks By touch of our own swords — w^e victims duped. No, crime enthralls you — after you it trails. Duels with you ! Away ! and murder me. [Hernani, morose and thoughtful, plays for some instants with the hilt of his sword, then turns sharply towards the King and snaps the blade on the pavement. Hernani. Go, then. [The King half turns towards him and looks at him haughtily. We shall have fitter meetings. Go. Get thee away. 58 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HXjGO. [Act II. Don Carlos. "lis well. I go, Sir, soon Unto the Ducal Palace. I, your King-, Will then employ the magistrate. Is there Yet put a price upon your head ? Hernani. Oh, yes. Don Carlos. My master, from this day I reckon you A rebel, trait'rous subject; you I warn. I will pursue you everywhere, and make You outlaw from my kingdom. Hernani. That I am Already. Don Carlos. That is well. Hernani. But France is near To Spain. There's refuge there. Don Carlos. But I shall be The Emperor of Germany, and you Under the empire's ban shall be. Hernani. Ah, well ! I still shall have the remnant of the world, From wThich to brave you — and with havens safe O'er which you'll have no power. Don Carlos. But when I've gained The world ? Hernani. Then I shall have the grave. Don Carlos. Your plots So insolent I shall know how to thwart. Hernani. Vengeance is lame, and comes with lagging steps, But still it conies. Scene [V.] HERNANI. 59 Don Carlos {with a half laugh of disdain). For touch oi* lady whom The bandit Loves ! Hernani {with flashing eyes). Dost, thou remember, King*, I hold thee still ? Make me not recollect Oh, future Roman Caesar, that despised I have thee in my all too loyal hand, And that I only need to close it now To crush the egg of thy Imperial Eagle ! Don Carlos. Then do it. Hernani. Get away. [He takes off his cloak, and throws it on the shoulders of the King. Go, fly, and take This cloak to shield thee from some knife I fear Among- our ranks. [The King ivraps himself in the cloak. At present safely go, My thwarted vengeance for myself I keep. It makes 'gainst every other hand thy life Secure. Don Carlos. And you who've spoken thus to me Ask not for mercy on some future day. [Exit Don Carlos. Scene 4. — Hernani. Dona Sol. Dona Sol {seizing Hernani's hand) Now let us fly — be quick. Hernani. It well becomes You, loved one, in the trial hour to prove Thus strong, unchangeable, and willing e'en To th' end and depth of all to cling to me ; A noble wish, worthy a faithful soul ! 60 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act II. But Thou, oh God, dost see that to accept The joy that to my cavern she would bring — The treasure of a beauty that a king" Now covets — and that Dona Sol to me Should all belong — that she with me should 'bide, And all our lives be joined — that this should be Without regret, remorse — it is too late. The scaffold is too near. Dona Sol. What is't you say? Hernani. This King, whom to his face just now I braved, WTill punish me for having dared to show Him mercy. He already, perhaps, has reached His palace, and is calling round him guards And servants, his great lords, his headsmen Dona Sol. Heavens ! Hernani ! Oh, I shudder. Never mind, Let us be quick and fly together then. Hernani. Together ! No ; the hour has passed for that. Alas ! When to my eyes thou didst reveal Thyself, so good and generous, deigning e'en To love me with a helpful love, I could But offer you — I, wretched one ! — the hills, The woods, the torrents, bread of the proscribed, The bed of turf, all that the forest gives ; Thy pity then emboldened me — but now To ask of thee to share the scaffold ! No, No, Dona Sol. That is for me alone. Dona Sol. And yet you promised even that ! Hernani (falling on Ms knees). Angel ! At this same moment, when perchance from out The shadow Death approaches, to wind up All mournfully a life of mournfulness, Scene LV.] HEBNANL 61 I do declare that here a man proscribed, Enduring trouble great, profound — and rock'd In blood-stained cradle— black as is the gloom Which spreads o'er all my life, I still declare 1 am a happy, to-be-envied man, For you have loved me, and your love have owned ! For you have whispered blessings on my brow Accursed ! Dona Sol {leaning over his head). Hernani ! Hernani. Praised be the fate Sweet and propitious that for me now sets This flower upon the precipice's brink! {Raising himself.) Tis not to you that I am speaking- thus; It is to Heaven that hears, and unto God. Dona Sol. Let me go with you. Hernani. Ah, 'twould be a crime To pluck the flower wThile falling in the abyss. Go : I have breathed the perfume — 'tis enough. Remould your life, by me so sadly marred. This old man wed ; 'tis I release you now. To darkness I return. Be happy thou — Be happy and forget. Dona Sol. No, I will have My portion of thy shroud. I follow thee. I hang upon thy steps. Hernani {pressing her in his arms). Oh, let me go Alone ! Exiled — proscribed — a fearful man Am I. [He quits her with a convulsive movement, and is going. Dona Sol {mournfully, and clasping her hands). Hernani, do you fly from me ! 62 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act II. Hernani (returning). Well, then, no, no. You will it, and I stay. Behold me ! Come into my arms. I'll wait As long* as thou wilt have me. Let us rest, Forgetting- them. [He seats her on a bench. Be seated on this stone. [He places himself at her feet. The liquid light of your eyes inundates Mine own. Sing me some song, such as sometimes You used at eve to warble, with the tears In those dark orbs. Let us be happy now, And drink ; the cup is full. This hour is ours, The rest is only folly. Speak and say, Enrapture me. Is it not sweet to love, And know that he who kneels before you loves ? To be but two alone ? Is it not sweet To speak of love in stillness of the night When nature rests ? Oh, let me slumber now, And on thy bosom dream. Oh, Dona Sol, My love, my darling ! [Noise of bells in the distance. Dona Sol (starting up frightened). Tocsin ! — dost thou hear ? The tocsin ! Hernani (still kneeling at her feet). Eh ! No, 'tis our bridal bell The}7 're ringing. [The noise increases. Confused cries. Lights at all the windoius, on the roofs, and in the streets. Dona Sol. Rise — oh, fly — great God ! the town Lights up ! Hernani (half rising). A torchlight wedding for us 'tis ! Dona Sol. The nuptials these of Death, and of the tombs ! [Noise of swords and cries. Hernani (lying down on the stone bench). Let us to sleep again. Sc bnk 1\ . | HERNANL A Mountaineer (rushing in, sword in hand). The runners, sir. The alcades rush out in cavalcades With mighty force. Be quick— my Captain, — quick. [Hern an i mi Dona Sol (pale). Ah, thou wert right ! The Mountaineer. Oh, help us ! Hernani (to Mountaineer). It is well — I'm ready. (Confused cries outside.) Deat li bo the bandit ! Hernani (to Mountaineer). Quick, thy sword (To Dona Sol) Farewell ! Dona Sol. 'Tis I have been thy ruin ! Oh, Where canst thou go? (Pointing to the little door.) The door is free. Let us Escape that way. Hernani. Heavens ! Desert my friends ! What dost thou say ? Dona Sol. These clamors terrify. Remember, if thou dicst I must die. Hernani (holding her in his arms). A kiss ! Dona Sol. Hernani ! Husband ! Master mine ! Hernani (kissing her forehead). Alas ! it is the first ! Dona Sol. Perchance the last ! [Hernani exit. She falls on the bench. (34 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act III. THIRD ACT: THE OLD MAN. The Castle of Silva. In the midst of the Mountains of Aragon. Scene 1. — The gallery of family portraits of Silva; a great hall of which these portraits — surrounded with rich frames, and surmounted by ducal coronets and gilt escutcheons — form the decoration. At the back a lofty gothic door. Behveen the portraits complete panoplies of armor of different centuries. Dona Sol, pale, and standing near a table. Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, seated in his great carved oak chair. Don Ruy Gomez. At last the day has come ! — and in an hour Thou 'It be my Duchess, and embrace me ! Not Thine Uncle then ! But hast thou pardoned me ? That I was wrong* I own. I raised thy blush, I made thy cheek turn pale. I was too quick With my suspicions — should have staj^ed to hear Before condemning* ; but appearances Should take the blame. Unjust we were. Certes The two young handsome men were there. But then — No matter — well I know that I should not Have credited my eyes. But, my poor child, What would 'st thou with the old? Dona Sol (seriously, and without moving). You ever talk Of this. Who is there blames you ? Don Ruy Gomez. I myself, I should have known that such a soul as yours S( bnb l.| HERNANL Never lias galantsj when Mis Dona Sol, And when good Spanish blood is in her veins. Dona Sol. Truly, my Lord, 'tis good and pure; perchance 'Twill soon be seen. Dox Ruy Gomez [rising, and going towards her). Now list. One cannot be The master of himself, so much in love As I am now with thee. And I am old And jealous, and am cross — and why? Because I'm old ; because the beauty, grace, or youth Of others frightens, threatens me. Because While jealous thus of others, of myself I am ashamed. What mockery! that this love Which to the heart brings hack such joy and warmth, Should halt, and hut rejuvenate the soul, Forgetful of the body. When I see A youthful peasant, singing blithe and gay, In the green meadows, often then I muse — I, in my dismal paths, and murmur low : " Oh, I would give my battlemented towers, And ancient ducal donjon, and my fields Of corn, and all my forest lands, and flocks So vast which feed upon my hills, my name And all my ancient titles — ruins mine, And ancestors who must expect me soon, All — all I'd give for his new cot, and brow Un wrinkled. For his hair is raven black, And his eyes shine like yours. Beholding him You might exclaim : A young man this ! And then Would think of me so old." I know it well. I am named Silva. Ah, but that is not Enough ; I say it, see it. Now behold To what excess I love thee. All I'd give Could I be like thee — young and handsome now ! Vain dream ! that I were young again, who must By long, long years precede thee to the tomb. Dona Sol. Who knows ? Hugo. Vol. V.— 5 66 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act 111. Don Ruy Gomez. And yet, I pray you, me believe, The frivolous swains have not so much of love Within their hearts as on their tongues. A girl May love and trust one ; if she dies for him, He laughs. The strong- winged and gay-painted birds That warble sweet, and in the thicket trill, Will change their loves as they their plumage moult. They are the old, with voice and color gone, And beauty fled, who have the resting wings We love the best. Our steps are slow, and dim Our eyes. Our brows are furrowed, — but the heart Is never wrinkled. When an old man loves He should be spared. The heart is ever young, And always it can bleed. This love of mine Is not a plaything made of glass to shake And break. It is a love severe and sure, Solid, profound, paternal, — strong' as is The oak which forms my ducal chair. See then How well I love thee — and in other ways I love thee — hundred other wa}xs, e'en as We love the dawn, and flowers, and heaven's blue ! To see thee, mark thy graceful step each day, Thy forehead pure, thy brightly beaming eye, I'm joyous — feeling that my soul will have Perpetual festival ! Dona Sol. Alas ! Don Ruy Gomez. And then, Know you how much the world admires, applauds, A woman, angel pure, and like a dove, When she an old man comforts and consoles As he is tott'ring to the marble tomb, Passing* away by slow degrees as she Watches and shelters him, and condescends To bear with him, the useless one, that seems But fit to die ? It is a sacred work And worthy of all praise — effort supreme SCBN E 1 . | HKRNANI. 67 Of a devoted heart to comfort him Unto the end, and without loving perhaps, To act as if she loved. Ah, thou to me Wilt be this angel with a woman's heart Who will rejoice the old man's soul again And share his latter years, and by respect A daughter be, and by your pity like A sister prove. Dona Sol. Far from preceding me, 'Tis likely me you'll follow to the grave. My lord, hecause that we are young is not A reason we should live. Alas ! I know And tell you, often old men tarry long, And see the young go first, their eyes shut fast By sudden stroke, as on a sepulchre That still was open falls the closing stone. Don Ruy Gomez. Oh cease, my child, such saddening discourse, Or I shall scold you. Such a day as this Sacred and joyous is. And, by-the-by, Time summons us. Are you not ready yet For chapel when we're called ? Be quick to don The bridal dress. Each moment do I count. Dona Sol. There is abundant time. Don Ruy Gomez. Oh no, there's not. (Enter a Page.) What want you? The Page. At the door, my lord, a man — A pilgrim — beggar — or I know not what, Is craving here a shelter. Don Ruy Gomez. Let him in Whoever he may be. Good enters with The stranger that we welcome. What's the news DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act III. From th' outside world ? What of the bandit chief That filled our forests with his rebel band ? The Page. Hernani, Lion of the mountains, now Is done for. Dona Sol {aside). God! Don Ruy Gomez (to the Page). How so ? The Page. The troop's destroyed. The King- himself has led the soldiers on. Hernani's head a thousand crowns is worth Upon the spot ; but now he's dead, they say. Dona Sol (aside). What ! Without me, Hernani ! Don Ruy Gomez. And thank Heaven ! So he is dead, the rebel ! Now, dear love, We can rejoice; go then and deck thyself, My pride, my darling1. Day of double joy. Dona Sol. Oh, mourning- robes ! [Exit Dona Sol. Don Ruy Gomez (to the Page). The casket quickry send That I'm to give her. [He seats himself in his chair. 'Tis my longing* now To see her all adorned Madonna like. With her bright eyes, and aid of my rich gems, She will be beautiful enough to make A pilgrim kneel before her. As for him Who asks asylum, bid him enter here, Excuses from us offer; run, be quick. [The Page bows and exit. 'Tis ill to keep a g-uest long* waiting* thus. [The door at the back opens. Hernani appears dis- guised as a Pilgrim. The Duke rises. S( BNB II.] HERNANL 69 Scene 2.— Don Ruy Gomez. Hernani. (Heknani pauses at the threshold of the door.) Hernani. My lord, peace and all happiness be yours ! Don Ruy Gomez (saluting him with his hand). To thee be peace and happiness, my guest ! [Hernani enters. The Duke reseats himself. Art thou a pilgrim ? Hernani (bowing). Yes. Don Ruy Gomez. No doubt you come From Armillas ? Hernani. Not so. I hither came By other road, there was some fighting there. Don Ruy Gomez. Among the troop of bandits, was it not ? Hernani. I know not. Don Ruy Gomez. What's become of him — the chief They call Hernani ? Dost thou know ? Hernani. My lord, Who is this man ? Don Ruy Gomez. Dost thou not know him then ? For thee so much the worst ! Thou wilt not gain The good round sum. See you a rebel he That has been long unpunished. To Madrid Should you be going, perhaps you'll see him hanged Hernani. I go not there. Don Ruy Gomez. A price is on his head For any man who takes him. 70 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act III. Hernani {aside). Let one come ! Don Ruy Gomez. Whither, good pilgrim, goest thou ? Hernani. My lord, I'm bound for Saragossa. Don Ruy Gomez. A vow made In honor of a Saint, or of Our Lady ? Hernani. Yes, of Our Lady, Duke. Don Ruy Gomez. Of the Pillar? Hernani. Of the Pillar. Don Ruy Gomez. We must be soulless quite Not to acquit us of the vows we make Unto the Saints. But thine accomplished, then Hast thou not other purposes in view ? Or is to see the Pillar all you wish ? Hernani. Yes. I would see the lights and candles burn, And at the end of the dim corridor Our Lady in her glowing shrine, with cope All golden — then would satisfied return. Don Ruy Gomez. Indeed, that's well. Brother, what is thy name ? Mine, Ruy de Silva is. Hernani (hesitating). My name Don Ruy Gomez. You can Conceal it if you will. None here has right To know it. Cam'st thou to as3: V.] HERNANL 81 Who is this man? No, not Hernani he, But Judas is Ins name oh, try 1<> speak And tell me who he is ! [Crossing his arms.) In all your days Saw you aught like him ? No. Hernani. My lord Don Ruy Gomez (still addressing the portraits). See you The shameless miscreant? He would speak to me, But heller far than I you read his soul. Oli, heed him not ! he is a knave — he'd say That be foresaw that in the tempest wild 01" my great wrath I brooded o'er some deed Of gory vengeance shameful to my roof. A sister deed to that they call the least Of Seven Heads.* He'll tell you he's proscribed, He'll tell you that of Silva they will talk E'en as of Lara. Afterwards he'll say He is my guest and yours. My lords, my sires, Is the fault mine? Judge you between us now. Hernani. Ruy Gomez de Silva, if ever 'neath The heavens clear a noble brow was raised, If ever heart was great and soul was high, Yours are, my lord ; and oh, my noble host, I, who now speak to you, alone have sinn'd. Guilty most damnably am I, without Extenuating word to say. I would Have carried off thy bride — dishonor'd thee. * This allusion is to the seven brothers who were slain by the treachery of their uncle Ruy Velasquez. According to a note prefixed by Lockhart to the ballad on this subject, " After the seven Infants were slain, Almanzor, King of Cordova, invited his prisoner, Gonzalo Gnstio, to feast with him in his palace; but when the Baron of Lara came in obedience to the royal invitation, he found the heads of his sons set forth in chargers on the table. The old man reproached the Moorish king bitterly for the cruelty and baseness of this proceeding, and suddenly snatching a sword from the side of one of the royal attendants, sacri- ficed to his wrath, ere he could be disarmed and fettered, thirteen of the Moors who surrounded the person of Almanzor."— Tkans. Hugo. Vol. V.— 6 82 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act III. Twas infamous. I live ; but now my life I offer unto thee. Take it. Thy sword Then wipe, and think no more about the deed. Dona Sol. My lord, 'twas not his fault — strike only me. Hernani. Be silent, Dona Sol. This hour supreme Belongs alone to me ; nothing* I have But it. Let me explain things to the Duke. Oh, Duke, believe the last words from my mouth, I swear that I alone am guilty. But Be calm and rest assured that she is pure, That's all. I guilty and she pure. Have faith In her. A sword or dagger thrust for me. Then throw my body out of doors, and have The flooring washed, if you should will it so. What matter ? Dona Sol. Ah ! I only am the cause Of all; because I love him. [Don Ruy turns round trembling at these ivords, and fixes on Dona Sol a terrible look. She throws herself at his feet. Pardon ! Yes, My lord, I love him ! Don Ruy Gomez. Love him — you love him ! (To Hernani.) Tremble ! [Noise of trumpets outside. Enter a Page. What is this noise ? The Page. It is the King, .My lord, in person, with a band complete Of archers, and his herald, who now sounds. Dona Sol. Oh God! This last fatality— the King! bnb V.| HERN AN I. The Page (to the Duke). He asks the reason why the door is closed, And order gives to open it. Don Ruy Gomez. Admit The King. [The Page bows and Dona Sol. He's lost : [Don Ruy Gomez goes to one of the portraits — that of himself and the last on Hie left ; he presses a spring, and the portrait opens out like a door, and reveals a hiding-place in the wall. He turns to Hernani. Come hither, sir. Hernani. My life To thee is forfeit ; and to yield it up I'm ready. I thy prisoner am. [He enters the recess. Don Ruy again presses the spring, and the portrait springs back to its place looking as before. Dona Sol. My lord, Have pity on him ! The Page (entering). His Highness the King- ! [Dona Sol hurriedly lowers her veil. The folding- doors open. Enter Don Carlos in military attire, followed by a crowd of gentlemen equally armed with halberds, arquebuses, and cross-bows. S4 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act III. Scene 6. — Don Ruy Gomez, Dona Sol veiled, Don Carlos and Folloivers. Don Carlos advances slowly, his left hand on the hilt of his sword, his right hand in his bosom, and looking at the Duke with anger and defiance. The Duke goes before the King and boivs low. Silence. Expectation and terror on all. At last the King, coming opposite the Duke, throws back his head haughtily. Don Carlos. How comes it then, my cousin, that to-day Thy door is strongly barr'd ? By all the Saints I thought your dagger had more rusty grown, And know not why, when I'm your visitor, It should so haste to brightly shine again All ready to your hand. (Don Ruy Gomez attempts to speak, but the King continues with an imperious gesture.) Late in the day It is for you to play the young man's part ! Do we come turban'd ? Tell me, are we named Boabdil or Mahomet, and not Charles, That the portcullis 'gainst us you should lower And raise the drawbridge ? Don Ruy Gomez (bowing). Highness io Don Carlos (to Jiis gentlemen). Take the keys And guard the doors. [Two officers exeunt. Several others arrange the soldiers in a triple line in the hall from the King to the principal door. Don Carlos turns again to the Duke. Ah ! you would wake to life Again these crushed rebellions. By my faith, If you, ye Dukes, assume such airs as these The King himself will play his kingly part, Traverse the mountains in a warlike mode, Scbnb VI.] HERNANL 85 And in their battlemented nests will slay The Lordlings ! Don Ruy Gomez {drawing himself up). Ever have the Silvas been, Your Highness, loyal. Don Carlos {interrupting him). Without subterfuge Reply, or to the ground I'll raze thy towers Eleven ! Oi' extinguished fire remains One spark — of brigands dead the chief survives, And who conceals him ? It is thou, I say ! Hernani, rebel-ringleader, is here, And in thjr castle thou dost hide him now. Don Ruy Gomez. Highness, it is quite true. Don Carlos. Well, then, his head I want — or if not, thine. Dost understand, My cousin ? Don Ruy Gomez. Well, then, be it so. You shall Be satisfied. [Dona Sol hides her face in her hands and sinks into the arm-chair. Don Carlos (a little softened). Ah ! you repent. Go seek Your prisoner. {The Duke crosses his arms, lowers his head, and re- mains some moments pondering. The King and Dona Sol, agitated by contrary emotions, observe him in silence. At last the Duke looks up, goes to the King, takes his hand, and leads him with slow steps towards the oldest of the portraits, which is where the gallery commences to the right of the spectator. Don Ruy Gomez (pointing out the old portrait to the King). This is the eldest one, The great forefather of the Silva race, 86 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act III. Don Silvius our ancestor, three times Was he made Roman consul. (Passing to the next portrait.) This is he Don Galceran de Silva — other Cid ! They keep his body still at Toro, near Yalladolid ; a thousand candles burn Before his gilded shrine. 'Twas he who freed Leon from tribute o' the hundred virgins.* (Passing to another.) Don Bias — who. in contrition for the fault Of having' ill-advised the king*, exiled Himself of his own will. (To another.) This Christoval ! At fight of Escalon, when fled on foot The King Don Sancho, whose white plume was mark For general deadly aim, he cried aloud, Oh, Christoval ! And Christoval assumed The plume, and gave his horse. (To another.) This is Don Jorge, Who paid the ransom of Ramire, the King Of Aragon. Don Carlos (crossing his arms and looking at him from head to foot). By heavens now, Don Ruy, I marvel at you ! But go on. Don Ruy Gomez. Next comes Don Ruy Gomez Silva, he was made Grand Master of St. James, and Calatrava. His giant armor would not suit our heights. He took three hundred flags from foes, and won In thirty battles. For the King Motril He conquer'd Antequera, Suez, Nijar ; and died in poverty. Higrmess, Salute him. * A yearly tribute exacted by the Moors after one of their victories. One of the fine Spanish ballads translated by Lockhart is on this subject.— Trans. Scene VI.] HERNANI. 87 [lie bows, uncovers, and passes to (mother portrait. The King listens impatiently, and with increas- ing anger. Next hi in is his son, named Gil, Dear to all noble souls. His promise worth Tin1 oath of royal hands. (To another.) Don Gaspard this, Tin* pride alike of Mendoce and Silva. Your Highness, every noble family Has some alliance with the Silva race. Sandoval has both trembled at, and wed With us. Manrique is envious of us : Lara Is jealous. Alencastre hates us. We All dukes surpass, and mount to Kings. Don Carlos. Tut ! tut ! You're jesting. Don Ruy Gomez. Here behold Don Vasquez, called The Wise. Don Jayme surnamed the Strong. One day Alone he stopped Zamet and five score Moors. I pass them by, and some the greatest. [At an angry gesture of the King he passes by a great number of portraits, and speedily come;; to the three last at the left of the audience. This, My grandfather, who lived to sixty years, Keeping his promised word even to Jews. (To the last portrait but one.) This venerable form my father is, A sacred head. Great was he, though he comes The last. The Moors had taken prisoner His friend Count Alvar Giron. But my sire Set out to seek him with six hundred men To war inured. A figure of the Count Cut out of stone by his decree was made And dragged along behind the soldiers, he, By patron saint, declaring that until The Count of stone itself turned back and fled, DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act III. He would not falter ; on lie went and saved His friend. Don Carlos. I want my prisoner. Don Ruy Gomez. This was A Gomez de Silva. Imagine — judge What in this dwelling one must say who sees These heroes Don Carlos. Instantly — my prisoner ! Don Ruy Gomez. [He bows low before the King, takes his hand, and leads him to the last portrait, which serves for the door of Hernani's hiding-place. Dona Sol watches him ivith anxious eyes. Silence and ex- pectation in all. This portrait is my own. Mercy ! King* Charles ! For you require that those who see it here Should say, " This last, the worthy son of race Heroic, was a traitor found, that sold The life of one he sheltered as a guest ! " [Joy of Dona Sol. Movement of beivilderment in the crowd. The King disconcerted moves away in anger, and remains some moments with lips trembling and eyes flashing. Don Carlos. Your Castle, Duke, annoys me, I shall lay It low. Don Ruy Gomez. Thus, Highness, you'd retaliate, Is it not so ? Don Carlos. For such audacity Your towers I'll level with the ground, and have Upon the spot the hemp-seed sown. Don Ruy Gomez. I'd see The hemp spring freely up where once my towers Scene VI.] HERNANL 89 Stood high, rather than stain should eat into Tin4 ancient name of Silva. {To the portraits,) Is 't not true ? I ask it of you all. Don Carlos. Now, Duke, this head, "lis ours, and thou hast promised it to me. Don Ruy Gomez. I promised one or other. (To the portraits.) Was 't not so ? I ask you all? {Pointing to his head.) This one I give. {To the King.) Take it. Don Carlos. Duke, many thanks ; but 'twould not do. The head I want is young ; when dead the headsman must Uplift it by the hair. But as for thine, In vain he'd seek, for thou hast not enough For him to clutch. Don Ruy Gomez. Highness, insult me not. My head is noble still, and worth far more Than any rebel's poll. The head of Silva You thus despise ! Don Carlos. Give up Hernani ! Don Ruy Gomez. Have spoken, Highness. Don Carlos. (To his folloivers.) Search you every where From roof to cellar, that he takes not wing Don Ruy Gomez. My keep is faithful as myself ; alone It shares the secret which we both shall guard Right well. »0 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act III Don Carlos. I am the King- ! Don Ruy Gomez. Out of my house, Demolished stone by stone, they'll only make My tomb, — and nothing- gam. Don Carlos. Menace I find And prayer alike are vain. Deliver up The bandit, Duke, or head and castle both Will I beat down. Don Ruy Gomez. I've said my word. Don Carlos. Well, then. Instead of one head I'll have two. (To the Duke d'Alcala.) You, Jorge, Arrest the Duke. Dona Sol (she plucks off her veil and throws herself beiiveen the King, the Duke, and the Guards). King* Charles, an evil king Are you ! Don Carlos. Good heavens ! Is it Dona Sol I see? Dona Sol. Highness ! Thou hast no Spaniard's heart ! Don Carlos (confused). Madam, you are severe upon the King. [He approaches her, and speaks low 'Tis 3tou have caused the wrath that's in my heart. A man approaching you perforce becomes An angel or a monster. Ah, when we Are hated, swiftly we malignant grow ! Perchance, if you had willed it so, young girl, I'd noble been — the lion of Castile ; A tiger I am made by your disdain. Scene VI.] HERNANL 91 You hear it roaring now. Madam, be still ! [Dona Sol looks at him. lie bows. However, I'll obey. {Turning to the Duke.) Cousin, may be Thy scruples are excusable, and I Esteem thee. To thy guest be faithful still, And faithless to thy King. 1 pardon thee. ?Tis better that I only take thy niece Away as hostage. Don Ruy Gomez. Only ! Dona Sol. Highness ! Me ! Don Carlos. Ves, you. Don Ruy Gomez. Alone ! Oh, wondrous clemency ! Oh, generous conqueror, that spares the head To torture thus the heart ! What mercy this ! Don Carlos. Choose 'twixt the traitor and the Dona Sol ; I must have one of them. Don Ruy Gomez. The master you ! [Don Carlos approaches Dona Sol to lead her away. She flies towards the Duke. Dona Sol. Save me, my lord ! (She pauses. — Aside.) Oh misery ! and yet It must be so. My Uncle's life, or else The other's ! — rather mine ! (To the King.) I follow you. Don Carlos (aside). By all the Saints I 'the thought triumphant is ! Ah, in the end you'll soften, princess mine ! [Dona Sol goes with a grave and steady step to the casket, opens it, and takes from it the dagger, which she hides in her bosom. Don Carlos comes to her and offers his hand. 92 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act III. Don Carlos. What is 't you're taking thence ? Dona Sol. Oh, nothing' ! Don Carlos. Is 't Some precious jewel ? Dona Sol. Yes. Don Carlos (smiling). Show it to me. Dona Sol. Anon you'll see it. [She gives him her hand and prepares to folloic him. Don Ruy Gomez, who has remained mo- tionless and absorbed in thought, advances a few steps crying out. Don Ruy Gomez. Heavens, Dona Sol ! Oh, Dona Sol ! Since he is merciless, Help ! walls and armor come down on us now ! (He runs to the King.) Leave me my child ! I have but her, oh King ! Don Carlos (dropping Dona Sol's hand). Then yield me up my prisoner. [The Duke drops his head, aud seems the prey of horrible indecision. Then he looks up at the portraits with supplicating hands before them. Oh, now Have pity on me all of you ! [He makes a step towards the hiding-place, Dona Sol watching him anxiously. He turns again to the portraits. Oh hide Your faces ! They deter me. [He advances with trembling stejis towards his own portrait, then turns again to the King. Is't your will ? S< I \i: VI. | HERNANL 93 Don Carlos. Ves. [27/: Of nations, bearing on your shoulders broad The mighty pyramid thai has two poles. The Living waxes thai ever straining hard Balance and shake il as they heave and roll, Make all change place, and on the highest heights Make stagger thrones, as if they were but stools. So sure is this, that ceasing vain debates Kings look to Heaven ! Kings Look down below, Look at tin4 people! — Restless ocean, there Where nothing's cast that does not shake the whole; The sea that rends a throne, and rocks a tomb — A glass in which kings rarely look but ill. Ah, if upon this gloomy sea they gazed Sometimes, what Empires in its depths they'd find! Groat vessels wrecked that by its ebb and How Are stirr'd — that wearied it — known now no more! To govern this — to mount so high if called, Yet know myself to be but mortal man ! To see the abyss — if not that moment struck With dizziness bewildering every sense. Oh, moving pyramid of states and kings With apex narrow, — woe to timid step ! What shall restrain me? If I fail when there Feeling- my feet upon the trembling- world, Feeling- alive the palpitating- earth, Then when I have between my hands the globe Have I the strength alone to hold it fast, To be an Emperor ? Oh, God, 'twas hard And difficult to play the kingly part. Certes, no man is rarer than the one Who can enlarg-e his soul to duly meet Great Fortune's smiles, and still increasing gifts. But I ! Who is it that shall be my guide, My counsellor, and make me great ? [Falls on his knees before the to tub. 'Tis thou, Oh, Charlemagne ! And since 'tis God for whom All obstacles dissolve, who takes us now And puts us face to face — from this tomb's depths Endow me with sublimity and strength. 108 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act IV. Lot me be great enough to see the truth On every side. Show me how small the world I dare not measure — me this Babel show Where, from the hind to Caesar mounting- up. Each one, complaisant with himself, regards The next with scorn that is but half restrained. Teach me the secret of thy conquests all, And how to rule. And show me certainly Whether to punish, or to pardon, be The worthier thing- to do. Is it not fact That in his solitary bed sometimes A mighty shade is wakened from his sleep, Aroused 03^ noise and turbulence on earth : That suddenly his tomb expands itself, And bursts its doors — and in the night fling's forth A flood of light ? If this be true indeed, Say, Emperor ! what can after Charlemagne Another do ! Speak, though thy sovereign breath Should cleave this brazen door. Or rather now Let me thy sanctuaiw enter lone ! Let me behold thy veritable face. And not repulse me with a freezing breath. Upon thy stony pillow elbows lean, And let us talk. Yes, with prophetic voice Tell me of things which make the forehead pale, And clear eyes mournful. Speak, and do not blind Thine awe-struck son, for doubtlessly thy tomb Is full of light. Or if thou wilt not speak, Let me make study in the solemn peace Of thee, as of a world, thy measure take, Oh giant, for there's nothing here below So great as thy poor ashes. Let them teach, Failing thy spirit. [He puts the key in the lock. Let us enter now. [He recoils. Oh, God, if he should really whisper me ! If he be there and walks with noiseless tread. And I come back with hair in moments bleached ! I'll do it still. [Sound of footsteps. Who comes? who dares disturb S( im: 111. | HERNANI. 109 Besides myself the dwelling of such dead ! [ The sound comes nearer. My murderers 1 I forgot 1 Now enter we. | /A- opens (he door of the loud), which shuts upon him. [Eider several men walking softly, disguised by large (looks and hats.) Scene 3. — The Conspirators. (They take each others9 hands, going front one to another and speaking in a low lone.) First Conspirator (who alone carries a lighted torch). Ad augusta. Second Conspirator. Per angusta. Shield us. First Conspirator. The Saints Third Conspirator. The dead assist us. First Conspirator. Guard us, God ! [Noise in the shade. First Conspirator. Who's there ? A Voice. Ad augusta Second Conspirator. Per angusta. [Enter fresh Conspirators — noise of footsteps. First Conspirator to Third. See ! there is some one still to come. Third Conspirator. Who's there ? (Voice in the darkness.) Ad augusta. no DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act IV. Third Conspirator. Per angusta. {Enter more Conspirators, who exchange signs with their hands tvith the others.) First Conspirator. 'Tis well. All now are here. Gotha, to you it falls To state the case. Friends, darkness waits for light. [The Conspirators sit in a half circle on the tombs. The First Conspirator passes before them, and from his torch each one lights a wax taper which he holds in his hand. Then the First Conspirator seats himself in silence on a tomb a little higher than the others in the centre of the circle. Duke of Gotha (rising). My friends ! This Charles of Spain, by mother's side A foreigner, aspires to mount the throne Of Holy Empire. First Conspirator. But for him the grave. Duke of Gotha (throwing down his light and crushing it tvith his foot). Let it be with his head as with this flame. All. So be it. First Conspirator. Death unto him. Duke of Gotha. Let him die. All. Let him be slain. Don Juan de Haro. German his father was. Duke de Lutzelbourg. His mother Spanish. Scene I II. | HEENANI. iu Duke of Gotha. Thus you see thai he Is no more one than other. Let him die. A Conspirator. Suppose th' Electors at this very hour Declare him Emperor ! First Conspirator. Him ! oh, never him ! Don Gil Tellez (J ikon. What, signifies? Le1 us strike oil' the head, The Crown will fall. First Conspirator. But if to him belongs The Holy Empire, he becomes so greal And so august, that only God's own hand ( an reach him. Duke of Gotha. All the better reason why He dies before such power august he gains. First Conspirator. He shall not be elected. All. Not for him The Empire. First Conspirator. Now, how many hands will't take To put him in his shroud ? All. One is enough. First Conspirator. How many strokes to reach his heart ? All. But one. First Conspirator. Who, then, will strike ? 112 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act IV. All. All! All! First Conspirator. The victim is A traitor proved. They would an Emperor choose, We've a high-priest to make. Let us draw lots. [All the Conspirators ivrite their names on their tablets, tear out the leaf, roll it up, and one after another throw them into the urn on one of the tombs. Afterwards the First Conspirator says, Now let us pray. (All kneel, the First Conspirator rises and says,) Oh, may the chosen one Believe in God, and like a Roman strike, Die as a Hebrew would, and brave alike The wheel and burning- pincers, laugh at rack, And fire, and wooden horse, and be resigned To kill and die. He might have all to do. [He draws a parchment from the urn. All. What name ? First Conspirator (in low voice). Hernani ! Hernani (coming out from the croivd of Conspirators). I have won, yes won ! I hold thee fast ! Thee I've so long" pursued With vengeance. Don Ruy Gomez (piercing through the crowd and taking Hernani aside). Yield — oh yield this rig*ht to me. Hernani. Not for my life ! Oh, Signor, grudg-e me not This stroke of fortune — 'tis the first I've known. Don Ruy Gomez. You nothing have ! I'll give you houses, lands, A hundred thousand vassals shall be yours S< BNK 111. | HERNANL L13 In mv three hundred villages, if you But yield the right to si rike to in*'. Hbrnani. No — no. Duke of Gotha. Old man, thy arm would strike less sure a blow. Don Rrv Gomez. Back! 1 have strength of soul, if not of arm. Judge not the sword by the mere scabbard's rust. ( To Hernani.) You do belong to me. Hernani. My life is yours, As his belongs to me. Don Ruy Gomez (drawing the horn from his (jirdle). I yield her up, And will return the horn. Hernani (he trembles). What life ! my life And Dona Sol! No, I my vengeance choose. I have my father to revenge — yet more, Perchance I am inspired by God in this. Don Ruy Gomez. I yield thee Her — and give thee back the horn ! Hernani. No! Don Ruy Gomez. Boy, reflect. Hernani. Oh, Duke, leave me my prey. Don Ruy Gomez. M}r curses on you for depriving me Of this my joy. First Conspirator. (To Hernani.) Oh, brother, ere they can Hugo. Vol. V.— 8 114 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act IV. Elect him — 'twould be well this very night To watch for Charles. Hernani. Fear nought, I know the way To kill a man. First Conspirator. May every treason fall On traitor, and may God be with you now. We Counts and Barons, let us take the oath That if he fall, yet slay not, we go on And strike by turn unflinching till Charles dies. All (drawing their sivords). Let us all swear. Duke of Gotha (to First Conspirator). My brother, let's decide On what we swear. ■* Don Ruy Gomez (taking his sicord by the point and raising it above his head). By this same cross. All (raising their swords). And this That he must quickly die impenitent. [They hear a cannon fired afar off. All pause and are silent. The door of the tomb half opens, and Don Carlos appears at the threshold. A second gun is fired, then a third. He opens wide the door and, stands erect and motionless without advancing. Scene 4. — The Conspirators and Don Carlos. Afterwards Don Ricardo ; Signors, Guards, The King of Bohemia, The Duke of Bavaria, aftenvards Dona Sol. Don Carlos. Fall back, ye gentlemen — the Emperor hears. [All the lights are simultaneously extinguished. A profound silence. Don Carlos advances a step in the darkness, so dense, that the silent, motion- less Conspirators can scarcely be distinguished. S< ene IV.] HERNANL L15 Silence and eight ! From darkness sprung, the swarm Int o the darkness plunges back again! Think ye this scene is like a passing dream, And that I take you, now your lights arc quenched, For men's stone figures seated on their tombs? Just now, my statues, you had voices loud, Raise, then, your drooping heads, for Charles the Fifth Is here. Strike. Move a pace or two and show You dare. But no, 'tis not in you to dare. Your (laming torches, blood-red neath these vaults, My breath extinguished ; but now turn your eyes Irresolute, and see that if I thus Put out the many, I can light still more. [He strikes the iron key on the bronze door of the tomb. At the sound all the depths of the cavern are filled with soldiers bearing torches and halberts. At their head the Duke d'Alcala, the Marquis d'Almunan, etc. Come on, my falcons ! I've the nest — the prey. (To Conspirators.) I can make blaze of light, 'tis my turn now, Behold ! (To the Soldiers.) Advance — for flagrant is the crime. Hernani (looking at the Soldiers). Ah, well ! At first I thought 'twas Charlemagne, Alone he seemed so great — but after all Tis only Charles the Fifth. Don Carlos (to the Duke d'Alcala). Come, Constable Of Spain, (To Marquis d'Almunan.) And you Castilian Admiral, Disarm them all. [The Conspirators are surrounded and disarmed. Don Ricardo (hurrying in and boiving almost to the ground). Your Majesty ! Don Carlos. Alcade I make you of the palace. 1LG DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. TAct IV. L Don Ricardo {again bowing). Two Electors, To represent the Golden Chamber, come To offer to your Sacred Majesty Congratulations now. Don Carlos. Let them come forth. {Aside to Don Ricardo.) The Dona Sol. [Ricardo bows and exit. Enter with flambeaux and flourish of trumpets the King of Bohemia and the Duke of Bavaria, both wearing cloth of gold, and tvith crowns on their heads. Numerous fol- lowers. German nobles carrying the banner of the Empire, the double-headed Eagle, with the escutcheon of Spain in the middle of it. The Soldiers divide, forming lines between which the Electors pass to the Emperor, to whom they bow low. He returns the salutation by raising his hat. Duke of Bavaria. Most Sacred Majesty Charles, of the Romans King", and Emperor, The Empire of the world is in your hands — Yours is the throne to which each king aspires ! The Saxon Frederick was elected first, But he judged you more worthy, and declined. Now then receive the crown and globe, oh King — The Holy Empire doth invest you now, Arms with the sword, and you indeed are great. Don Carlos. The College I will thank on my return. But go, my brother of Bohemia, And you Bavarian cousin. — Thanks: but now I do dismiss you — I shall go myself. King of Bohemia. Oh ! Charles, our ancestors were friends. My Sire Loved yours, and their two fathers were two friends — So young ! exposed to varied fortunes ! say. SI I V.J HERNANL 117 Oh Charles, may 1 be ranked a very chief Among thy brothers? 1 cannot forget 1 know you as a little child. Don Carlos. Ah, well — King of Bohemia, you presume too much. [He gives him Ms hand to kiss, also the Duke of Bavaria, both bow low. Depart. [Exeunt the two Electors with their followers. The Crowd. Long live the Eaiperor ! Don Carlos (aside). So 'tis mine, All things have helped, and I am Emperor — By the refusal though of Frederick Surnamed the Wise ! (Enter Dona Sol led by Ricardo.) Dona Sol. What, Soldiers ! — Emperor ! Hernani ! Heavens, what an unlooked-for chance ! Hernani. Ah ! Dona Sol ! Don Ruy Gomez (aside to Hernani). She has not seen me. [Dona Sol rims to Hernani, who makes her recoil by a look of disdain. Hernani. Madam ! Dona Sol (drawing the dagger from her bosom). I still his poignard have ! Hernani (taking her in his arms). My dearest one ! Don Carlos. Be silent all. (To the Conspirators.) Is't you remorseless are ? I need to give the world a lesson now, L18 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act IV The Lara of Castile, and Gotha, you Of Saxony — all — all — what were your plans Just now ? I bid you speak. Hernani. Quite simple, Sire, The thing, and we can briefly tell it you. We 'graved the sentence on Belshazzar's wall. [He takes out a poignard and brandishes it. We render unto Caesar Caesar's due. Don Carlos. Silence ! (To Don Ruy Gouez. And you ! You too are traitor, Silva ! Don Ruy Gomez. Which of us two is traitor, Sire ? Hernani (turning towards the Conspirators). Our heads And Empire — all that he desires he has. (To the Emperor.) The mantle blue of kings encumbered you ; The purple better suits — it shows not blood. Don Carlos (to Don Ruy Gomez). Cousin of Silva, this is felony, Attaining your baronial rank. Think well, Don Ruy — high treason ! Don Ruy Gomez. Kings like Roderick Count Julians make.* Don Carlos (to the Duke d'Alcala). Seize only those who seem The nobles, — for the rest ! * Roderick, the last Gothic King, by craft and violence dishonored Florinda, the daughter of Count Julian, who, in revenge, invited the Saracens into Spain, and assisted their invasion, A.D. 713. Their army was commanded by Tarik, who gave the name Gibel-al-Tarik, or mountain of Tarik, to the place where he landed— a name corrupted to Gibraltar. So incensed were the Spaniards against the hapless Florinda, that they abolished the word as a woman's name, reserv- ing it henceforth for dogs. — Trans. Scene LV.] HEBNANL L19 [Don Ruy Gomez, the Duke de Lutzelbourg, the Duke of Gotha, Don Juan de Haro, Don Guz- man de Lara, Don Tellez Giron, the Baron of Hohenbourg separate themselves from the group of Conspirators, among whom is Her- nani. The Duke d'Alcala surrounds them with guards. Dona Sol (aside). Ah, he is saved ! Hernani (coming from among the Conspirators). I claim to be included ! (To Don Carlos.) Since to this It comes, the question of the axe — that now Hernani, humble churl, beneath thy feet Unpunished goes, because his brow is not At level with thy sword — because one must Be great to die, I rise. God, who gives power, And gives to thee the sceptre, made me Duke Of Segorbe and Cardona, Marquis too Of Monroy, Albaterra's Count, of Gor Viscount, and Lord of many places, more Than I can name. Juan of Aragon Am I, Grand Master of Avis — the son In exile born, of murder'd father slain By king's decree, King Charles, which me proscribed, Thus death 'twixt us is family affair; You have the scaffold — we the poignard hold. Since heaven a Duke has made me, and exile A mountaineer, — since all in vain I've sharpen'd Upon the hills my sword, and in the torrents Have tempered it, [He puts on his hat. (To the Conspirators.) Let us be covered now, Us the Grandees of Spain. (They cover.) (To Don Carlos.) Our heads, oh ! King, Have right to fall before thee covered thus. (To the Prisoners.) Silva, and Haro — Lara — men of rank 120 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act IV And race make room for Juan of Aragon. Give me my place, ye Dukes and Counts — my place. (To the Courtiers and Guards.) King', headsmen, varlets — Juan of Aragon Am I. If all your scaffolds are too small Make new ones. (He joins the group of Nobles.) Dona Sol. Heavens ! This history. Don Carlos. I had forgotten quite Hernani. But they who bleed remember Far better. TV evil that wrong-doer thus So senselessly forgets, forever stirs Within the outraged heart. Don Carlos. Therefore, enougli For me to bear this title, that I'm son Of sires, whose power dealt death to ancestors Of yours ! Dona Sol (falling on her knees before the Emperor). Oh, pardon — pardon ! Mercy, Sire, Be pitiful, or strike us both, I pray, For he my lover is, my promised spouse, In him it is alone I live — I breathe ; Oh, Sire, in mercy us together slay. Trembling- — oh Majesty ! — I trail myself Before your sacred knees. I love him, Sire, And he is mine — as Empire is your own. Have pity! (Don Carlos looks at her without moving.) Oh what thought absorbs you ? Don Carlos. Cease. Kise — Duchess of Seg-orbe — Marchioness Of Monroy — Countess Albaterra — and (To Hernani.) Thine other names, Don Juan? Scbnb IV.] HERNANI. \l\ Hern am. Who speaks thus, The Kin-? Don Carlos. No, 'tis the Emperor. Dona Sol. Just Heav'n ! Don Carlos {pointing to her). Duke Juan, take your wife. Hernani (his eyes raised to heaven, Dona Sol in his anus). Just God ! Don Carlos (to Don Ruy Gomez). My cousin, I know the pride of your nobility, But Aragon with Silva well may mate. Don Ruy Gomez (bitterly). 'Tis not a question of nobility. Hernani (looking zvith love on Dona Sol and still holding her in his arms). My deadly hate is vanishing- away. [Throws away his dagger. Don Ruy Gomez (aside, and looking at them). Shall I betray myself ? Oh, no — my grief, My foolish love would make them pity cast Upon my venerable head. Old man And Spaniard ! Let the hidden fire consume, And suffer still in secret. Let heart break But cry not ; — they would laugh at thee. Dona Sol (still in Hernani's arms). My Duke ! Hernani. Nothing my soul holds now but love ! Dona Sol. Oh, joy ! Don Carlos (aside, his hand in his bosom). Stifle thyself, young heart so full of flamp, Let reign again the better thoughts which thou 122 DBAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act IV. So long hast troubled. Henceforth let thy loves, Thy mistresses, alas ! — be Germany And Flanders — Spain (looking at the banner). The Emperor is like The Eagle his companion, in the place Of heart, there's but a 'scutcheon. Herxaxi. Caesar you ! Don Carlos. Don Juan, of your ancient name and race Your soul is worthy (pointing to Dona Sol). Worthy e'en of her. Kneel, Duke. [Herxaxi kneels. Dox Carlos unfastens his own Golden Fleece and puts it on Herxaxi's neck. Receive this collar. [Dox Carlos draws his sword and strikes hint three times on the shoulder. Faithful be, For by St. Stephen now I make thee Knight. [He raises and embraces him. Thou hast a collar softer and more choice ; That which is wanting to my rank supreme, — The arms of loving woman, loved by thee. Thou wilt be happy — I am Emperor. (To Coxspirators. ) Sirs, I forget your names. Anger and hate I will forget. Go— go — I pardon you. This is the lesson that the world much needs. The Coxspirators. Glory to Charles ! Dox Ruy Gomez (to Dox Carlos). I only suffer then ! Dox Carlos. And I ! Dox Ruy Gomez. But I have not like Majesty Forgiven ! s; km: V. I HERNANL L23 Hernani. Who is't has worked this wondrous change? All. Nobles, Soldiers, Conspirators. Honor to Charles the Fifth, and Germany ! Don Carlos {turning to the tomb). Honor to Charlemagne ! Leave ns now together. [Exeunt all. Scene 5. — Don Carlos (alone). [He bends towards the tomb Art thou content with me, oh, Charlemagne ! Have I the king-ship's littleness stripped off? Become as Emperor another man ? Can I Rome's mitre add unto my helm ? Have I the right the fortunes of the world To sway ? Have I a steady foot that safe Can tread the path, by Vandal ruins strewed, Which thou hast beaten by thine armies vast? Have I my candle lighted at thy flame? Did I interpret right the voice that spake Within this tomb ? Ah, I was lost — alone Before an Empire — a wide howling world That threatened and conspired ! There were the Danes To punish, and the Holy Father's self To compensate — with Venice — Soliman, Francis, and Luther — and a thousand dirks Gleaming already in the shade — snares — rocks ; And countless foes ; a score of nations, each Of which might serve to awe a score of kings Things ripe, all pressing to be done at once. I cried to thee — with what shall I begin ? And thou didst answer — Son, b}r clemency ! 124 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V FIFTH ACT. The Nuptials. Scene 1. — Saragossa. A terrace of the palace of Aragon. At the back a flight of steps leading to the garden. At the right and left, doors on to a terrace which shotvs at the back of the stage a balustrade surmounted by a double row of Moorish arches, above and through which are seen the palace gardens, fountains in the shade. shrubberies and moving lights, and the Gothic and Arabic arches of the palace illuminated. It is night. Trumpets afar off are heard. Masks and Dominoes, either singly or in groups, cross the terrace here and there. At the front of the stage a group of young lords, their masks in their hands, laugh and chat noisily. Don Sancho Sanchez de Zuniga, Comte de Monteret, Don Matias Centurion, Marquis d'Almunan, Don Ricardo de roxas, comte de casapalma, don francisco de SOTOMAYOR, COHTE DE VaLALCAZAR, DON GaRCIE suarez de carbajal, comte de penalver. Don Garcie. Now to the bride long* life — and joy — I say ! Don Matias (looking to the balcony). All Saragossa at its windows shows. Don Garcie. And they do well. A torch-light wedding ne'er Was seen more gay than this, nor lovelier night, Nor handsomer married pair. Don Matias. Kind Emp'ror ! L] HERNANI. L25 Don Sancho. When we wont with him in the dark thai night Seeking adventure, Marquis, who'd have thought How it would end ? Don Ricardo {interrupting). I, too, was there. (To the of Iters.) Now list. Three galants, one a bandit, his head due Unto tln> scaffold; then a Duke, a King, Adoring the same woman, all laid siege At the same time. The onset made — who won? It was the bandit . Don Francisco. Nothing strange in that, For love and fortune, in all other lands As well as Spain, are sport of the cogg'd dice. It is the rogue who wins. Don Ricardo. My fortune grew In seeing" the love-making. First a Count And then Grandee, and next an Alcade At court. My time was well spent, though without One knowing* it. Don Sancho. Your secret, sir, appears To be the keeping- close upon the heels O* the King. Don "Ricardo. And showing- that my conduct's worth Reward. Don Garcie. And by a chance you profited. Don Matias. What has become of the old Duke ? has he His coffin ordered ? Don Sancho. Marquis, jest not thus At him ! For he a haughty spirit has ; 126 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V. And this old man loved well the Dona Sol. His sixty years bad turned his hair to gray. One day has bleached it. Don Garcie. Not again, they say, Has he been seen in Saragossa. Don Sancho. Well? Wouldst thou that to the bridal he should bring His coffin ? Don Francisco. What's the Emperor doing now ? Don Sancho. The Emperor is out of sorts just now, Luther annoys him. Don Ricardo. Luther ! — subject fine For care and fear ! Soon would I finish him With but four men-at-arms ! Don Matias. And Soliman Makes him dejected. Don Garcia. Luther — Soliman Xeptune — the devil — Jupiter ! What are They all to me ? The women are most fair, The masquerade is splendid, and I've said A hundred foolish things ! lrv Don Sancho. Behold you now The chief thing. Don Ricardo. Garcie 's not far wrong, I say. Not the same man am I on festal days. When I put on the mask in truth I think Another head it gives me. iNB l.J HERNANL vrt Don Sancho (apart to Don Matias). Pity 'lis Thai all days are not festivals ! Don Francisco. Arc those Their rooms ? Don Garcie (with a nod of his head). Arrive they will, no doubt, full soon. Don Francisco. Dost think so ? Don Garcie. Most undoubtedly ! Don Francisco. Tis well. The bride is lovely ! Don Ricardo. What an Emperor ! The rebel chief, Hernani, to be pardoned — Wearing the Golden Fleece ! and married too ! Ah, if the Emperor had been by me Advised, the gallant should have had a bed Of stone, the lady one of down. Don Sancho (aside to Don Matias). How well I'd like with my good sword this lord to smash, A lord made up of tinsel coarsely joined ; Pourpoint of Count filled out with bailiff's soul ! Don Ricardo (drawing near). What are you saying* ? Don Matias (aside to Don Sancho). Count, no quarrel here ! (To Don Ricardo.) He was reciting one of Petrarch's sonnets Unto his lady love. Don Garcie. Have you not seen Among the flowers and women, and dresses gay 128 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V Of many hues, a figure spectre-like, Whose domino all black, upright against A balustrade, seems like a spot upon The festival ? Don Ricardo. Yes, by my faith ! Don Garcie. Who is't ? , Don Ricardo. By height and mien I judge that it must be— The Admiral — the Don Prancasio. Don Francisco. Oh, no. Don Garcie. He has not taken off his mask. Don Francisco. There is no need ; it is the Duke de Soma, Who likes to be observed. 'Tis nothing more. ■o Don Ricardo. No ; the Duke spoke to me. Don Garcie. Who then can be This Mask ? But see — he's here. [Enter a Black Domino, who slowly crosses the back of the stage. All tarn and ivatch him without his appearing io notice them. Don Sancho. If the dead walk, That is their step. Don Garcie (approaching the Black Domino). Most noble Mask (The Black Domino stops and turns. Garcie recoils.) I swear, Good Sirs, that I saw flame shine in his eyes. Scene L] HEBNANL L29 Don Sancho. If he's the devil he'll find one he can Address. [He goes to the Black Domino, who is still motionless. Ho, Demon ! comest thou from he] I ? The Mask. I come not thence — 'tis thither that I go. [He continues his walk and disappears at the balus- trade of the staircase. All ivatch him with a look of horrified dismay. Don Matias. Sepulchral is his voice, as can be heard. Don Garcie. Pshaw ! What would frighten elsewhere, at a ball We laugh at. Don Sancho. Silly jesting' 'tis ! Don Garcie. Indeed, If Lucifer is come to see us dance, Waiting for lower regions, let us dance ! Don Sancho. Of course its some buffoonery. Don Matias. We'll know To-morrow. Don Sancho {to Don Matias). Look now what becomes of him, I pray you ! Don Matias {at the balustrade of the terrace). Down the steps he's gone. That's all. Don Sancho. A pleasant jester he ! {Musing.) 'Tis strange. Don Garcie {to a lady passing). Marquise, Let us pray dance this time. [He boivs and offers his hand. Hugo. Vol. V.— 9 130 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V. The Lady. You know, dear sir, My husband will my dances with you all Count up. Don Garcie. All the more reason. Pleased is he To count, it seems, and it amuses him. He calculates — we dance. [The lady gives her hand and they exeunt. Don Sancho (thoughtfully). In truth, 'tis strange ! Don Matias. Behold the married pair ! Now silence all ! [Enter Hernani and Dona Sol hand in hand. Dona Sol in magnificent bridal drsss. Hernani in black velvet and with the Golden Fleece hanging from his neck. Behind them a crowd of Masks and of ladies and gentlemen tcho form their retinue. Two Halberdiers in rich liveries follow them, and four pages precede them. Everyone makes ivay for them and botes as they approach. Flourish of trumpets. Scene 2. — The Same. Hernani, Dona Sol, and retinue. Hernani (saluting), Dear friends Don Ricardo (advancing and bowing). Your Excellency's happiness Makes ours. Don Francisco (looking at Dona Sol). Now, by James, 'tis Venus' self That he is leading. Don Matias. Happiness is his ! Scbkb 111. J HERNANL L31 Don Sancho (to Don Matias). 'Tis laic now, lot us leave. [Alt sulute the married jxiir and retire — some by the door, others by the stair/rot/ at the back, Heknani (escorting them). Adieu ! t Don Sancho (who has remained to the last, and pressing his hand). Be happy ! | Exit Don Sancho. [Hernani and Dona Sol remain, ((tone. The sound of voices grows fainter and fainter till it ceases altogether. During the earl// part of the follow- ing scene the sound of trumpets grates jointer, and the lights by degrees are extinguished — till night and silence prevail. Scene :). — Hernani. Dona Sol. Dona Sol. At last they all are gone. Hernani (seeking to draw her to his arms). Dear love ! Dona Sol (drawing back a little). Is't late ?- At least to me it seems so. Hernani. Angel dear, Time ever drags till we together are. Dona Sol. This noise has wearied me. Is it not true, Dear Lord, that all this mirth but stifling is To happiness ? Hernani. Thou say est truly, Love, For happiness is serious, and asks 132 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V. For hearts of bronze on which to 'grave itself. Pleasure alarms it, flinging to it flowers ; Its smile is nearer tears than mirth. Dona Sol. Thy smile's Like daylight in thine eyes. [Hernani seeks to lead her to the door. Oh, presently. Hernani I am thy slave ; yes, linger if thou wilt, Whate'er thou clost is well. I'll laugh and sing If thou desirest that it should be so. Bid the volcano stifle flame, and 'twill Close up its gulfs, and on its sides grow flowers, And grasses green. Dona Sol. How good you are to me, My heart's Hernani ! Hernani. Madam, what name's that ? I pray in pity speak it not again ! Thou calPst to mind forgotten things. I know That he existed formerly in dreams, Hernani, he whose eyes flashed like a sword, A man of night and of the hills, a man Proscribed, on whom was seen writ everywhere The one word vengeance. An unhappy man That drew down malediction ! I know not The man they called Hernani. As for me, I love the birds and flowers, and Avoods — and song Of nightingale. I'm Juan of Aragon, The spouse of Dona Sol — a happy man ! Dona Sol. Happy am I ! Hernani. What does it matter now, The rags I left behind me at the door ! 8< BNE III.] ' UEBNANL L33 Behold, I to my palace desolate Come buck. Upon the threshold-sill there waits For me an Angel; I come in and lift Upright the broken columns, kindle fire, And ope again the windows; and the grass Upon the courtyard 1 have all pluck'd up; For me there is but joy, enchantment, love. Let them give back my towers, and donjon-keep, My plume, and seat at the Oastilian board Of Council, comes my blushing Dona Sol, Let them leave us — the rest forgotten is. Nothing' I've seen, nor said, nor have I done. Anew my life begins, the past effacing. Wisdom or madness, you I have and love, And you are all my joy ! Dona Sol. How well upon The velvet black the golden collar shows ! Hernani. You saw it on the King- ere now on me. Dona Sol. I did not notice. Others, what are they To me ? Besides, the velvet is it, or The satin? No, my Duke, it is thy neck Which suits the golden collar. Thou art proud And noble, my own Lord. [He seeks to lead her indoors. Oh, presently, A moment ! See you not, I weep with joy ? Come look upon the lovely night. [She goes to the balustrade. My Duke, Only a moment — but the time to breathe i And gaze. All now is o'er, the torches out, The music done. Night only is with us. Felicity most perfect ! Think you not That now while all is still and slumbering", Nature, half waking, watches us with love ? No cloud is in the skj'. All thing's like us 134 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V Are now at rest. Come, breathe with me the air Perfumed 03^ roses. Look, there is no light, Nor hear we any noise. Silence prevails. The moon just now from the horizon rose E'en while you spoke to me ; her trembling- light And thy dear voice together reached my heart. Joyous and softly calm I felt, oh, thou My lover ! And it seemed that I would then Most willingly have died. Hernani. Ah, who is there Would not all thing's forget when listening thus Unto this voice celestial ! Thy speech But seems a chaunt with nothing* human mixed, And as with one, who gliding down a stream On summer eve, sees pass before his eyes A thousand flowery plains, my thoughts are drawn Into thy reveries ! Dona Sol. This silence is Too deep, and too profound the calm. Say, now, Woulclst thou not like to see a star shine forth From out the depths — or hear a voice of night, Tender and sweet, raise suddenly its song? Hernani (smiling). Capricious one ! Just now you fled away From all the sonars and lights. *o* Dona Sol. Ah yes, the ball ! But yet a bird that in the meadow sings, A nightingale in moss or shadow lost, Or flute far oil. For music sweet can pour # Into the soul a harmony divine, That like a heavenly choir wakes in the heart A thousand voices ! Charming would it be ! [TJiey hear the sound of a horn from the shade. My prayer is heard. S* i:m: 111. I • HERNANL L35 Hernani {aside, trembling). Oh, miserable man ! Dona Sol. An angel read my thought — 'twas thy good angel Doubtless ? Hernani {bitterly). Yes, niv good angel ! (^Is/cZe.) There, again ! Dona Sol (smiling). Don Juan, I recognize your horn. Hernani. Is't so? Dona Sol. The half this serenade to you belongs ? Hernani. The half, thou hast declared it. Dona Sol. Ah, the ball Detestable ! Far better do I love The horn that sounds from out the woods ! And since It is your horn 'tis like your voice to me. [The horn sounds again. Hernani (aside). It is the tiger howling for his prey ! Dona Sol. Don Juan, this music fills my heart with joy. Hernani (drawing himself up and looking terrible). Call me Hernani ! call me it again ! For with that fatal name I have not done. Dona Sol (trembling). What ails you ? Hernani. The old man ! L36 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V. Dona Sol. Oh God, what looks ! What is it ails you? Hernani. That old man who in The darkness laughs. Can you not see him there ? Dona Sol. Oh, you are wand 'ring* ! Who is this old man ? Hernani. The old man ! Dona Sol. On my knees I do entreat Thee, say what is the secret that afflicts Thee thus ? Hernani. I swore it ! Dona Sol. Swore ! [She watches his movements ivith anxiety. He stops suddenly and passes his hand across his brow, Hernani {aside). What have I said ? Oh, let me spare her. {Aloud.) I — nought. What was it I said ? Dona Sol. You said Hernani. No, no, I was disturbed And somewhat suffering- I am. Do not Be frightened. ■j-> Dona Sol. You need something ? Order me, Thy servant. [The horn sounds again. Scbnk IV.] HERNANL 137 Heknani (((side). Ah, he claims! he claims the pledge! He has my oath. (Feeling for his dagger.) Not there. It must be done ! Ah ! Dona Sol. Suff'rest thou so much? Hernani. 'Tis an old wound That I thought healed — it has reopened now. (Aside.) She must be got away. (Aloud.) My best beloved, Now listen ; there's a little box that in Less happy days I carried with me Dona Sol. Ah, I know what 'tis you mean. Tell me your wish. Hernani. It holds a flask of an elixir which Will end my sufferings. — Go ! Dona Sol. I go, my Lord. [Exit by the door to their apartments. Scene 1. Hernani (alone). This, then, is how my happiness must end ! Behold the fatal finger that doth shine Upon the wall ! My bitter destiny Still jests at me. [He falls into a profound yet convulsive reverie. Afterwards he turns abruptly. Ah, well ! I hear no sound. Am I myself deceiving ? [The Mask in black domino appears at the balustrade of the steps. Hernani stops petrified. L38 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Ad V. Scene 5.— Hern ant. The Mask. The Mask. "Whatsoe'er May happen, what the place, or what the hour, Whenever to thy mind it seems the time Has come for me to die — blow on this horn And take no other care. All will he done." This compact had the dead for witnesses. Is it all done ? Hernani (in a low voice). 'Tis he ! The Mask. Unto tlry home I come, I tell thee that it is the time. It is my hour. I find thee hesitate. Hernani. Well then, thy pleasure say. What wouldest thou Of me ? The Mask. I give thee choice 'twixt poison draught And blade. I bear about me both. We shall Depart together. Hernani. Be it so. First pray ? The Mask. Shall we Hernani. What matter ? The Mask. Which of them wilt thou ? Hernani. The poison. Scene V.| HERNANL I ;• The Mask. Then hold out your hand. [He gives a vial to Hernani, who pales at receiving it. Now drink, That I may finish. [Hernani lifts the vial to hi.s lips, but recoils, Hernani. Oli, for pity's sake Until to-morrow wait ! If thou lias heart Or soul, if thou are not a spectre just Escaped from flame, if thou art not a soul Accursed, forever lost; if on thy brow Not yet has God inscribed His " never." Oh, If thou hast ever known the bliss supreme Of loving", and at twenty years of age Of wedding" the beloved; if ever thou Hast clasped the one thou lovedst in thine arms, Wait till to-morrow. Then thou canst come back ! The Mask. Childish it is for you to jest this way ! To-morrow ! why, the bell this morning" toll'd Thy funeral ! And I should die this night, And who would come and take thee after me ! I will not to the tomb descend alone, Young man, 'tis thou must go with me ! Hernani. Well, then, I say thee nay ; and, demon, I from thee Myself deliver. I will not obey. The Mask. As I expected. Very well. On what Then didst thou swear ? Ah, on a trifling thing, The mem'ry of thy father's heaa. With ease Such oath may be forgotten. Youthful oaths Are light affairs. Hernani. My father !— father ! Oh My senses I shall lose ! 140 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V. The Mask. Oh, no — 'tis but A perjury and treason. Hernani. Duke ! The Mask. Since now The heirs of Spanish houses make a jest Of breaking promises, I'll say Adieu ! [He moves as if to leave. Hernani, Stav ! Then- The Mask. Hernani. Oh cruel man ! [He raises the vial. Thus to return Upon my path at heaven's door ! [Re-enter Dona Sol without seeing the Mask, who is standing erect near the balustrade of the stair- way at the back of the stage. Scene 6. — The Same. Dona Sol. Dona Sol. I've failed To find that little box. Hernani (aside). Oh God ! 'tis she ! At such a moment here ! Dona Sol. What is't, that thus I frighten him, — e'en at my voice he shakes ! What hold'st thou in thy hand ? What fearful thought ! What hold'st thou in thy hand ? Reply to me. [The Domino unmasks, she utters a cry in recogniz- ing Don Ruy, Tis poison ! DOXA SOL WITH THE DEAD BODY OF HERNANI. Hernani— Act V., Scene 6 S< i:m: Vl.| HEBNANL hi Hernani. Oh, great Beaven ! Dona Sol (to Heknani). What is it That I have done to thee ? What mystery Of horror? I'm deceived by thee, Don Juan! Heknani. Ah. I had thought to hide it all from thee. My life I promised to the Duke that time He saved it. Aragon must pay this debt To Suva. Dona Sol. Unto me you do belong, Not him. What signify your other oaths ? (To Don Ruy Gomez.) My love it is which gives me strength, and, Duke, I will defend him against you and all The world. Don Ruy Gomez (unmoved). Defend him if you can against An oath that's sworn. Dona Sol. What oath? Heknani. Yes, I have sworn. Dona Sol. No, no ; naught binds thee ; it would be a crime, A madness, an atrocity — no, no, It cannot be. Don Ruy Gomez. Come, Duke. [Hernani makes a gesture to obey. Dona Sol tries to stop him. Hernani. It must be done. Allow it, Dona Sol. My word was pledged To the Duke, and to my father now in heaven ! 142 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V. Dona Sol (to Don Ruy Gomez). Better that to a tigress you should go And snatch away her young, than take from me Him whom I love. Know you at all what is This Dona Sol ? Long time I pitied you, And, in compassion for your age, I seemed The gentle girl, timid and innocent, But now see eyes made moist by tears of rage. [She draws a dagger from her bosom. See you this dagger ? Old man imbecile ! Do you not fear the steel when eyes flash threat ? Take care, Don Ruy ! I'm of thy family. Listen, mine Uncle ! Had I been your child It had been ill for you, if you had laid A hand upon my husband ! [She throws away the dagger, and falls on her knees before him. At thy feet I fall ! Mercy ! Have pity on us both. Alas ! my lord, I am but woman weak, My strength dies out within my soul, I fail So easily; 'tis at your knees I plead, I supplicate — have mercy on us both ! Don Ruy Gomez. Dona Sol ! Dona Sol. Oh, pardon ! With us Spaniards Grief bursts forth in stormy words, you know7 it. Alas ! you used not to be harsh ! My uncle, Have pity, you are killing me indeed In touching him ! Mercy, have pity now, So well I love him ! Don Ruy Gomez (gloomily). You love him too much I Hernani. Thou weepest ! - Dona Sol. No, my love, no, no, it must Not be. I will not have you die. (To Don Ruy.) Scene VI.] HERNANL U3 To-day Be merciful, and I will Love you well, You also. Don Ruy Gomez. After him ; the dregs you'd give The remnants of your love, and friendliness. Still less and less. — Oh, think you thus to quench The thirst that now devours me? (Pointing to Hernani.) He alone Is everything. For me kind pityings ! With such affection, what, pray, could I do? Fury ! 'tis he would have your heart, 3rour love, And be enthroned, and grant a look from you As alms ; and if vouchsafed a kindly word 'Tis he would tell you — say so much, it is Enough, — cursing- in heart the greedy one The beggar, unto whom he's forced to fling" The drops remaining- in the emptied glass. Oh, shame ! derision ! No, we'll finish. Drink ! Hernani. He has my promise, and it must be kept. Don Ruy Gomez. Proceed. [Hernani raises the vial to his lips. Dona Sol throws herself on his arm. Dona Sol. Not yet. Deign both of you to hear me. Don Ruy Gomez. The grave is open and I cannot wait. Dona Sol. A moment only — Duke, and my Don Juan, Ah ! both are cruel! What is it I ask? An instant ! that is all I beg- from you. Let a poor woman speak what's in her heart, Oh, let me speak Don Ruy Gomez. ■I cannot wait. 144 DEAMA8 OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V. Dona Sol. My Lord, You make me tremble ! What then have I done ? Hernani. His crime is rending- him. Dona Sol (still holding his arm). You see full well I have a thousand things to say. Don Ruy Gomez (to Hernani). Die — die You must. Dona Sol (still hanging on his arm). Don Juan, when all's said indeed Thou shalt do what thou wilt. [She snatches the vial. I have it now ! [She lifts the vial for Hernani and the old man to see. Don Ruy Gomez. Since with two women I have here to deal, It needs, Don Juan, that I elsewhere go In search of souls. Grave oaths you took to me, And by the race from which you sprang-. I go Unto your father, and to speak among The dead. Adieu. [He moves as if to depart. Hernani holds him back. Hernani. Stay, Duke. (To Dona Sol.) Alas ! I do Implore thee. Wouldst thou wish to see in me A perjured felon only, and e'erwhere I go "a traitor" written on my brow? In pity give the poison back to me. 'Tis b3r our love I ask it, and our souls Immortal Dona Sol (sadly). And thou wilt ? (She drinks.) Now take the rest. S< km: VI.] HEBNANI. 140 Don Ruy Gomez {aside). "Funs t hen for tier ! Dona Sol (returning the half -emptied rial to Hernani). 1 tell thee, take Hernani. (To Don Ruy.) See'st thou, Oli miserable man ! Dona Sol. Grieve not for mo, I've left thy share. Hernani (taking the vial). Oh God! Dona Sol. Not thus would'st thou Have left me mine. But thou ! not thine the heart Of Christian wife ! Thou knowest not to love As Silvas do — hut I've drunk first — made sure. Now drink it, if thou wilt ! Hernani. What hast thou done, Unhappy one ? Dona Sol. 'Twas thou who willed it so. Hernani. It is a frightful death ! Dona Sol. No — no — why so ? Hernani. This philtre leads unto the grave. Dona Sol. And ought We not this night to rest together ? Does It matter in what bed ? Hernani. My father, tnou Hugo. Vol. V .— 10 146 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V Thyself avengest upon me, who did Forget thee! (He lifts the vial to his month.) Dona Sol {throwing herself on him). Heavens, what strange agony ! Ah, throw this philtre far from thee ! My reason Is wand'ring. Stop! Alas! oh, my Don Juan, This drug- is potent, in the heart it wakes A hydra with a thousand tearing teeth Devouring it. I knew not that such pangs Could be ! What is the thing ? 'tis liquid fire. Drink not ! For much thou'dst suffer. Hernani. (To Don Ruy.) Ah, thy soul Is cruel ! Could'st thou not have found for her Another drug? [He drinks and throws the vial away. Dona Sol. What dost thou ? Hernani. What thyself Hast done. Dona Sol. Come to my arms, young lover, now. [They sit down close to each other Does one not suffer horribly ? Hernani. No, no. Dona Sol. These are our marriage rites ! But for a bride I'm very pale, say am I not ? Hernani. Ah me ! Don Ruy Gomez. Fulfilled is now the fatal destiny ! Scene VI. | HERNANL L47 Hernani. Oh misery and despair bo know her pangs! DofiA Sol. Be calm. I'm better, — Towards new brighter Light We now together open out our wings. Let us with even flight set out to reach A fairer world. Only a kiss — a kiss! [They embrace. Don Ruy Gomez. Oh, agony supreme ! Hernani (in a feeble voice). Oh bless'd be Heav'n That will'd for me a life by spectres followed, And by abysses yawning circled still, Yel grants, that weary of a road so rough, I fall asleep my lips upon thy hand. Don Ruy Gomez. How happy are they ! Hernani (in voice growing weaker and weaker). Come — come, Dona Sol, All's dark. Dost thou not suffer ? Dona Sol (in a voice equally faint). Nothing" now. Oh, nothing*. l&> Hernani. Seest thou not fires in the gloom?* Dona Sol. Not yet. Hernani (with a sigh). Behold (He falls.) Don Ruy Gomez {raising the head, ivhich falls again). He's dead ! * Certain poisons are said to produce among their dreadful effects, the appear- ance of fire when the sufferer is near death. — Trans. 148 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act V. Dona Sol {dishevelled and half raising herself on the seat). Oil no, we sleep. He sleeps. It is my spouse that here you see. We love each other — we are sleeping thus. It is our bridal. (In a failing voice.) I entreat you not To wake him, my Lord Duke of Meudoce, For he is weary. (She turns round the face o/Heexaxi.) Turn to me, my love. [She falls back. More near — still closer Dox Ruy Gomez. Dead ! Oh, I'm damn'd ! [He kills hi})} self. THE KING'S DIVERSION. (LE ROI S'AMUSE !) A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. (1832.) TRANSLATED BY FREDERICK L. SLOUJS. (149) TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION. E ROI S'AMUSE " was produced for the first time at the Theatre Frangais on the 22d of November, 1832, and suppressed next day by ministerial authority. This unusual interference drew from Victor Hugo an immediate publication of the work; in the Preface to which he expresses not only considerable indignation at so illegal an act, but unbounded surprise that the French govern- ment should have interdicted the future progress of his drama, after a first and successful representation. In my opinion, his astonishment ought to have been greater that " Le Roi s' Amuse " was allowed to appear before the pub- lic at all. It was not to be expected that so dangerous an attack on the rights and privileges of monarchy could be permitted to receive the nightly plaudits and awaken the republican sympa- thies of a Parisian audience. Under pretence of placing Francis the First, the sensualist and debauchee, in a well-merited pillory for public execration, a sly opportunity was both afforded and taken, for a pretty plentiful dirt-flinging — not only at Francis in particular, but at royalty and aristocracy in general : and our ingenious author must have wofully deceived himself in imagining that he could so easily elude the jealous vigilance of a government, as yet too insecurely established to bid defiance to the sarcasms of a writer, at once brilliant and powerful. The political tendency of the tragedy was, I conceive, the sole cause of its suppression. There could be no objection to it on the score of immorality. The French public and the dra- matic censor were too much accustomed to the style of the (151) 152 TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION. romantic school to be startled by "Le Roi s'Amuse." The well- educated Parisian sups on a dish of horrors — a la Victor Hugo, or a la Alexander Dumas — with as much relish as on the most tempting selections from the carte of the Trots Freres; he has no apprehensions that nightmares may result from the one, or indigestion from the other; he is accustomed to, and therefore requires excitement; and if he has any complaint to urge against our talented author, it might be, that his play is too little dis- tinguished by the diableries of the modern school, — that its crimes are all served up an naturel, and that it lacks the rich seasoning and high infernal flavor of I/ucrece Borgie or la Tour de Nesle. The English reader may perhaps object that in this, as in most of Victor Hugo's productions, there is not one really good or noble character — that in scanning the actions of the entire dramatis persona?, the e}Te of the reader, like that of poor Triboulet in the text, becomes a-weary with the sight of crime, and that the heart has no single spot of virtue or mag- nanimity where it may repose awhile from the shocks which the perpetual aspect of vice has inflicted. Alas, it is but too true! Yet notwithstanding this defect, one powerful argument may be advanced in its favor. Unlike so many of the most favored dramas of the French school, "Le Roi s'Amuse" contains no attempt to gloss over or inculcate the doctrines of immorality; there is no insidious endeavor to seduce the imagination, or pervert the judgment by making sophistry eloquent, or vice attractive. On the con- trary, as the Spartans intoxicated their Helots to make their children abhor drunkenness, so does Victor Hugo exhibit the hideousness of crime to the open detestation of the beholder; and although I am inclined to believe that both Lycurgus and Victor Hugo would, have evinced greater wisdom and feeling, had they presented examples of excellence to be revered, rather than depravity to be avoided, still the reader will, I think, agree with me, that it is better that our feelings should be wounded by the thorns, from amidst which we are compelled to gather the roses of poetry and imagination, than that the innocence of youth should be tempted to encounter the serpent, concealed in the basket of flowers. Of the characters but little need be said. Natural, but not profound, they are the creatures of circumstances, and require TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION. L53 no acute critic to render their motive and feelings compre- hensible. {){' Blanche, the offspring1 of sorrow, the victim of crime, little can be said in condemnation. The least criminal of the personages in the drama, she is the most severely dealt with; — a little French Juliet, without the intensity of feeling of Shake- speare, she is a weak-headed, warm-hearted girl of sixteen, ami acts accordingly. Francis the First, according- to history, was a sensualist, a profligate, and a man sans foi ni lot, the hero of Marigan, the defeated of Pavia, who, when he lost everything "fors Vhon- neur," lost all but that which he did not possess. History has given us the outlines of his character. Victor Hug-o has filled up the sketch with so vigorous a pencil, and so dark a shadowing*, that I trust, for the sake of human nature, he may be considered to have slightly exaggerated the foibles of le Roi des Gentils- hommes. The poor King- of the Casket in the Arabian Nights, living and breathing- above, was from the waist downwards a mass of black marble. Francis, on the contrary, is gay and animated throughout ; with one little exception, his heart, which indeed is marble of the blackest hue. Triboulet — the deformed, the Hunchback, is a being- of a dif- ferent nature from Quasimodo ;* and his character is drawn with a singular mixture of power and inconsistency. He is a cynic, and not a jester — rude, but not witty. His hatred malig-nant and undignified, and the retribution attendant upon it is more than commensurate with his guilt. St. Vallier is seen but little. His intention of sacrificing- his daughter Diana to the embraces of a deformed old Seneschal, abates much of the S3Tmpathy that his sorrows would otherwise deserve ; and it is matter for regret that he is so soon consigned to oblivion and the Bastille. With regard to the interest of the piece itself, — which pre- sents a strange mixture of unity and inconsistency — of wonderful beauties, and glaring defects, it may be summed up in a few words. The plot is simple and unfettered by episode, — increasing in interest throug-hout, and at length rising- in its catastrophe to a * The Hunchback of Notre Dame. 154 TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION. pilch of horrible sublimity, unequalled in any drama I have yet seen. The incidents also are arranged so as to produce the most st liking- dramatic effects; but, occasionally, it must be confessed that they depart even from the extreme license of probability, and that the characters are frequently made to do that which mature reflection would not acknowledge as naturally resulting from the situations in which they are placed. On the other hand, the language is so much the language of nature and feeling — of eloquence and sincerity, that the reason forgets for a moment the contradictions of cause and effect. By a sort of verbo-electrotype process, Victor Hugo has showered down a brilliant surface of the purest gold, which entirely conceals the inferiority of the sub- stance beneath, and the mind of the reader, dazzled by the lustre of the thin, though genuine metal, is content to forgive the incon- sistent materials, which so splendid a covering invests. F. L. S. Note.— It is perhaps necessary to observe that the French drama, more rigid with regard to unity of place than ours, seldom allows more than one painted scene to each Act ; and the reader is requested to bear in mind that, according to the French, text, when Scene I., IL, III., etc., are mentioned, nothing but the entrance of another personage on the stage is understood. AUTHOR'S PREFACE. HE production of this drama on the stage has given rise to a Ministerial action unprecedented. The morning- after its first representation the author received from M. Jouslin de la Salle, stage- manager of the Theatre Frangais, the following letter, the original of which he carefully pre- serves : — " It is half-past ten o'clock, and I have just received the order \ to suspend the representation of * Le Roi s' Amuse.' It is M. Taylor who communicates this command from the Minister. " November 23." The first emotion of the author was incredulity. The act was so arbitrary he could not believe in it. Indeed what is called the True Charter sa}^s : — " The French have the right to publish " Observe, the text does not say only the right to print, but clearly and forcibly the right to pub- lish. Now the theatre is only one manner of publication, as the press, or engraving, or lithography is. The liberty of the theatre is therefore implied in the Charter with all other freedom of thought. The fundamental law adds : — Censorship must never be re-established. Now the text does not say censorship of journals or of books, it says censorship in general, all censor- ship, that of the theatre as of writing. The theatre, then, hence- forth cannot recognize the legality of censorship. Besides, the Charter says, Confiscation is abolished. Now the suppression of a theatrical piece after its representation is not only a monstrous act of arbitrary censorship, it is a veri- table confiscation, a robbery of the theatre and of the author. * This preface was not translated by Mr. Slous, nor was it included in the original edition of his version, which appeared first in 1843. — Ed. t This word is underlined in the letter. (155) 156 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. Indeed, that all should he clear and unmistakable, and that the four or five great social principles which the French Revolu- tion has moulded in bronze ma}' rest intact on their pedestals of granite, and that the rights of Frenchmen should not be stealthily attacked by the forty thousand notched weapons which in the arsenal of our laws are destroyed by rust and disuse, the Charter in its last article expressly abolishes all which in our previous laws should prove contrary to its text and its spirit. This is certain. The Ministerial suppression of a theatrical piece, attacks liberty by censorship and property by confiscation. The sense of our public rights revolts against such a pro- ceeding'. The author, not believing* in so much insolence and folly, has- tened to the theatre. There the fact was confirmed in every particular. The Minister had, indeed, on his own authority, by his divine right of Minister, issued the order in question. He gave no reason. The Minister had taken away the author's piece, had deprived him of his rights, and of his property. There only remained that he should send the poet to the Bastille. We repeat that at the time in which we live, when such an act comes to bar your way and roughly take you by the throat, the first emotion is one of profound astonishment. A thousand questions present themselves to the mind. What is the law ? Where is the authority ? Can such things happen ? Is there, indeed, a something which is called the Revolution of July ? It is clear that we are no longer in Paris. In what Pashalic do we live ? Stunned and astonished, the authorities of the Corned ie Fran- chise took some measures to obtain from the Minister a revoca- tion of his strange decision ; but the trouble was wasted. The divan, I should say the Council of Ministers, had assembled in the morning. On the 23d it was only an order of the Minister, on the 24th it was an edict of the Ministry. On the 23d the piece was suspended ; on the 24th its representation was defin- itely prohibited. It was even enjoined that from the play-bills should be erased the formidable words Le Rol s' 'Amuse. Besides all this the authorities were even forbidden to make any com- plaint, or breath a word on the subject. Perhaps it would be grand, loyal, and noble to resist a despotism so Asiatic ; but managers of theatres dare not. Fear lest their privileges should be revoked makes them subjects and serfs, to be taxed and controlled at will as vassals, eunuchs, and mutes. The author will remain and ought to remain aloof from these proceedings of the theatre. He, the poet, depends not on any AUTHORS PREFACE. i:>; Minister. Those prayers and solicitations which his interests, pitifully considered, may perhaps counsel, his duty as an untram- melled writer forbids. To ask permission of power is to acknowl- edge it. Liberty and property are not thing's of the ante-chamber. A right is not to be treated as a favor. For a favor sue from the Minister; but claim a right from the country. It is, then, to the country that ho addresses himself. There are two methods of obtaining justice — by public opinion, or the tribunals of the law. He chooses them both. By public opinion the cause has already been judged and gained. And here the author ought to thank warmly those established and independent personages associated with literature and art, who on this occasion have given so many proofs of sym- pathy and cordiality. He calculated beforehand on their support. He knows that when he enters on the struggle for freedom of thought he will not be unsupported in the battle. And let us here observe in passing- that power, by a sufficiently contemptible calculation, flattered itself that it should on this occasion find auxiliaries even in the ranks of its opponents in the literary enmities so long- aroused by the author. It believed that literary animosity was still more tenacious than political, because the first had its roots in self-love, the second only in interest. But the Government has deceived itself. Its brutal act has proved revolting' to honest men in every camp. The author saw rally round him to show a bold front against an arbitrary act of injustice even those who had attacked him the most violently only the day before. If by chance some inveterate enemies remained, they regret nowT that they gave a momentary support to power. All the loyal and honorable of his foes have stretched out their hands to the author, ready to recommence the literary battle as soon as the political should be finished. In France whoever is persecuted has no longer an enemy except the persecutor. If now, after having* agreed that the Ministerial act is odious, unjustifiable, and impossible to be defended, wre descend for a moment to discuss it as a material fact, and seek for some of the elements which may have composed it, the first question which presents itself to every one is this : — " What can be the motive of such a measure ? " We must say it because it is the truth, if the future some day is occupied with our little men and our little things, this will not be the least curious detail of this curious event. It appears that our censors pretend to be shocked at the immorality of Le Boi s9 Amuse ; this piece offends the modesty of the police ; the brigade Leotaud considers it obscene ; the decider on morals has veiled his face ; it has made M. Vidocq blush. In short, the censor's order to the police, and that for some days has been 158 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. stammered round about us, is simply that the piece is immoral. Ho, there, my masters ! Silence on that point. Let us explain ourselves, however, not to the police, to whom I, an honest man, forbear to speak on these matters, but to the small number of respectable and conscientious persons who on hearsay, or after having" seen the performance imperfectly, have been persuaded into an opinion of which, perhaps, the name of the poet implicated ought to have been a sufficient refutation. The drama is printed to-day. If you were not present at the repre- sentation, read it. If you were there, still read it. Remember that that representation was less a performance than a battle, a sort of battle of Montihery (let this somewhat ambitious comparison pass), where the Parisians and the Burgundians each pretended to have "pocketed" the victory, as Matthieu said. The piece is immoral ? Think you so.? Is it from its sub- ject ? Triboulet is deformed, Triboulet is unhealthy, Triboulet is a court buffoon — a threefold misery which renders him evil. Triboulet hates the king because he is king, the nobles because the}" are nobles, and he hates ordinary men because they have not humps on their backs. His only pastime is to set the nobles unceasingly against the king, crushing the weaker by the stronger. He depraves the king, corrupts and stultifies him ; he encourages him in tyranny, ignorance, and vice. He lures him to the fami- lies of gentlemen, pointing out the wife to seduce, the sister to carry off, the daughter to dishonor. The king in the hands of Triboulet is but an all-powerful puppet which ruins the lives of those in the midst of whom the buffoon sets him to play. One day, in the midst of a fete, at the moment when Triboulet is urging- the king- to carry off the wife of M. de Cosse, M. de Saint-Vallier reaches the presence chamber, and in a loud voice reproaches the king for the dishonor of Diana de Poitiers. This father, from whom the king has taken his daughter, is jeered at and insulted by Triboulet. Then the father stretches forth his hand and curses Triboulet. It is from this scene the whole play develops. The real subject of the drama is the curse of M. de Saint-Vallier. Attend. You are in the second act. On whom has this curse fallen? On Triboulet as the king's fool? No. On Triboulet as a man, a father who has a heart and has a daughter. Triboulet has a daughter, all in that is expressed. Triboulet has but his daughter in the world, and he hides her from all eyes in a solitary house in a deserted quarter. The more he spreads in the town the contagion of debauchery and vice, the more he seeks to isolate and immure his daughter. He brings up his child in faith, innocence, and modesty. His greatest fear is that she may fall into evil, for he knows, being himself AUTHOR'S PREFACE. L59 wicked, all the wretchedness that is endured by evil-doers. Well, now! The old man's malediction will reach Triboulet through the only being1 in the world whom he loves, his daughter. This same king whom Triboulet urges to pitiless vice will be the ravisher of Triboulet's daughter. The buffoon will be struck by Providence precisely in the same manner as was M. de Saint- Vallier. And more, his daughter once ruined, he lays a snare for the king by which to avenge her; but it is she that falls into it. Tims Triboulet has two pupils — the king and his daughter — the king, whom he has trained to vice, his daughter, whom he has reared for virtue. The one destroys the other. He intends Mad- ame de Cosse to he carried off for the king, it is his daughter that is entrapped. He wishes to kill the king, and so avenge his child ; it is his daughter whom he slays. Punishment does not stop half way ; the malediction of Diana's father is fulfilled on the father of Blanche. Undoubtedly it is not for us to decide if this is a dramatic idea, but certainly it is a moral one. The foundation of one of the author's other works is fatality. The foundation of this one is Providence. We repeat expressly that we are not now addressing- the police, we do them not so much honor, but that part of the public to whom this discussion may seem necessary. Let us proceed. If the work is moral in its invention, is it that it was immoral in its execution ? The question thus put seems to contradict itself ; but let us see. Probably there is nothing- immoral in the first and second acts. Is it the situation in the third which shocks ? Read this third act, and tell us in all honesty if the impression which results be not profoundly one of chastity and virtuous principle. Is it the fourth act which is objectionable ? But when was it not permitted for a king- on the stage to make love to the servant at an inn ? The incident is not new either in history or the drama. And more, history shows us Francis the First in a drunken state in the hovels of the Rue du Pelican. To take a king into a viler place is not more new. The Greek theatre, which is the classical, has done it. Shakespeare, whose plays are of the romantic, has done it. The author of this drama has not. He knows all that has been written about the house of Saltabadil. But why repre- sent him to have said what he has not said ? Why in a similar case make him overleap a barrier which he has not passed ? This Bohemian Maguelonne, so much censured, is assuredly not more brazen than the Lisettes and Marions of the old theatre. The cot- tage of Saltabadil is a tavern, an hostelry, the pothouse of The Fir-Cone, a suspected cut-throat place, we admit, but not still viler. It is terrible, horrible, evil and fearful if you will, but it is not an obscene place. 160 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. There remain, then, the details of 'style. Read. The author accepts for judges of rigid strictness of his style even those persons who are startled at Juliet's nurse, and Ophelia's fattier, and by Beaumarchais and Regnard, by UEcole ties Femines and Am- phitryon^ Dandin and Sganarelli, and the grand scene of Tartuffe — Tartuffe, accused also of immorality in his day. Only there where he has found it necessary to be clear he has thought it his duty to be so at all risks and perils, but always with seri- ousness and moderation. He desires art to be chaste, but not prudish. Behold, however, this piece concerning* which the Minister has made so many accusations ! This immorality, this obscenity — here is the piece laid bare. What a pity ! Authority had its hidden reasons, and wTe shall indicate them presently, for raising against Le Roi s' Amuse the strongest prejudice possible. It wished that the public should stifle this piece from a distorted imagination, without hearing or understanding it, even as Othello stifles Desdemona. Honest Iago ! But as it finds that Othello has not stifled Desdemona, Iago unmasks and charges himself with the task. The day following the representation the piece is prohibited by order. Certainly if we condescend for a moment to accept the ridicu- lous Action that on this occasion it is care for public morality which actuates our rulers, and that shocked at the state of license into which certain theatres have fallen during the last two years, they have chosen at the end, in defiance of all lawTs and rights, to make an example of a work and an author — certainly if the choice of the wrork be singular, it must be admitted the choice of the author is not less so. Who is the man whom purblind power con- trols so strangely ? It is a writer so placed that if his talents may be questioned by all, his character cannot be by any one. It is acknowledged that he is an honest man, proved and verified — a thing rare and to be respected just now. He is a poet whom this same licentiousness of the theatre revolted and made indignant from the first ; who for the last eighteen months, on the report that the inquisition of theatres was to be equally re-established, has gone in person in the company of many other dramatic authors to warn the Minister against such a measure ; and who loudly de- manded a law repressive of riot in the theatre, protesting against the censorship in strong language which certainly the Minister has not forgotten. He is an artist devoted to art, who has never courted success by unworthy means, and who has all his life accus- tomed himself to look the public steadily in the face. He is a moderate and sincere man, who has fought more than one battle for liberty against arbitrary rule ; who, in 1829, in the last j^ear of the Restoration, refused all that the Government then offered him AUTHOR'S PREFACE. I to compensate for the interdict placed on Marion de Lorme* and who a year later, in L830, the Revolution of July having1 taken place, refused, against his worldly interests, to allow the perform- ance of this same Marion de Lorme lest it should be the occasion of insult and attack upon the deposed king who had prohibited it; conduct, undoubtedly quite natural, and which would have been that of any man of lienor in his place, but which, perhaps, should have rendered him henceforth safe from censure, and in reference to which he wrote in August, 1834 : — " The success of political allu- sions and sought-for scandals lie avows pleases him hut little. Such success is short-lived and of little value. Besides, it is pre cisely when there is no censorship that authors should themselves be honest, conscientious, severe censors. Thus it is they raise the dignity of art. When there is perfect liberty, it is becoming to keep within bounds." Judge now. On one side you have a man and his works ; on the other the Minister and Ins actions. Now that the pretended immorality of this drama is redu< i to a nonentity; now that the scaffolding of false and shameful reasons is thrown down and lies under our feet, it is time to nol the true motives of the measure, the motive of the ante-chamb< r, the motive of the Court, the secret motive which is not told, the motive that cannot be avowed even to themselves, the motive that has been so well hidden under a pretext. This motive has already transpired to the public, and the public has divined correctly. We shall say no more about it. It may be useful to our cause; that we offer to our adversaries an example of courtesy and moderation. It is right that a lesson of dignity and good sense should be given to the Government by an individual, by him who was persecuted to the persecutor. Besides, we are not of those who think to cure their own wounds by poisoning* the sores of others. It is but too true that in the third act of this piece there is a line in which the ill-placed cleverness of some of the intimates of the palace lias discovered an allusion (mark a moment — an allusion !) of which neither the public nor the author had dreamed until then, but which, once denounced in this manner, becomes the most cruel of injuries. It is but too true that this verse sufficed for the order that in announcements concerning* the Theatre Frangais the seditious little phrase of Le Roi s' Amuse, should never again be allowed to satisfy the curiosity of the public. We shall not cite here this verse, which is as red-hot iron, we shall not even indicate it, save in a last extremity should they be so imprudent as to drive us there for our defence. We will not cause the revival of old * In allusion to the offer of Charles the Tenth to grant the author a fresh pension of 4,000 francs as compensation for the suppression of Marion dc Lorme.— Trans. Hugo. Vol. V.— 11 L62 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. I *toric scandals. We will spare as much as possible a personage i high position the consequences of this stupidity of courtiers. One may make war generously even on a king. We wish to do thus. Only let the powerful ones reflect on the inconvenience it i^ to have for a friend the brute who only knows how to crush with the paving-stone of censorship the microscopic allusions which have just been placed before their faces. We cannot even tell if in this conflict we shall not feel indul- gent towards the Minister himself. The whole thing, to speak the truth, inspires us with pity. The Government of July is as yet but new born, it is but thirty months old, and is still in its cradle ; it has the little furies of babyhood. Does it deserve that we should spend on it much manly anger? When it is grown up we shall see about that. However, to look at the question for a moment only from the private point of view, the censorial confiscation of which he com- plains does more harm, perhaps, to the author of this drama than a like injury could do to any other dramatist. Indeed, during the fourteen years that he has written, not one of his works has escaped the unlucky honor of being chosen on its appearance for a battle-field, and which has not at first, for a longer or shorter period, been obscured by the dust, and the smoke, and the noise of the conflict. Thus, when he produces a piece at the theatre — not being able to hope for a calm audience on the first night — that which concerns him most is a series of representations. If it hap- pens that on the first occasion his voice is drowned in the tumult and his ideas are not comprehended, the following representations may correct first impressions. Hernani has been performed fifty- three times, Marion de Lorme sixty-one ; Le Rol s' Amuse, thanks to Ministerial oppression, has only been represented once. Assur- edly the wrong done to the author is great. Who can render to him exactly what this third experience — so important to him— might have brought ? Who can tell him what might have followed that first performance ? Who can restore that public of the next day — a public usually impartial — the public that is without friend- ships and without enmities, that teaches the poet, and that the poet teaches ? The period of political transition in which we now are is curious. It is one of those moments of general weariness when all acts of despotism are possible, even in a society infiltrated by ideas of emancipation and liberty. France moved fast in July, 1830 ; she did three days' good work ; she made three great advances in the field of civilization and progress. Now in the march of progress many are harassed, many are out of breath, many require to halt. They would hold back those generous, unwearying spirits who do not falter, who still go on. They would wait for the tardy who AUTHOR'S PREFACE. L63 remain behind, and give them time to join us. There is a singular fear in these of all that advances, of all that stirs, of all that pro- tests, o\' all who think. A strange frame of mind, easy to compre- hend, difficult to define. These arc the beings who are afraid of new ideas. It is the League of interests that are milled by theories. It is commerce frightened at systems; it is the merchant who wants to sell; it is tumult which terrifies the counting-house; it is the shopkeeper armed to defend himself. In our opinion Government makes use of this let-alone disposi- tion and fear of revolutionary novelties. It stoops to petty tyran- nies. All this is bad for it and for us. If it believes that there is now a feeling of indifference to liberal ideas it deceives itself ; there is only a certain weariness. Some day it will be called severely to account for the illegal acts which have accumulated for some time past. What a life it has led us ! Two years ago we feared for order, now we tremble for liberty. Questions of free thought, intelligence, and art are imperiously quelled by the viziers of the king of the barricades. It is indeed melancholy to see how the revolution of July is terminating, mulier formosa superne. Certainly if one reflects of how little consequence the work or the author under consideration is, the Ministerial measure against them is of no great importance. It is only a mischievous little blow to literature, which has no other merit than not being too unlike numerous arbitrary acts of which it is the sequel. But if we take a loftier view we shall see that it does not only affect this play and this poet, but, as we said from the first, the rights of lib- erty and property are both entirely concerned in the question. These are great and serious interests ; and though the author is obliged to associate this affair with the simple commercial interests of the Theatre Frangais — not being able to attack directly the Minister barricaded behind the plea of being a counsellor of state — he hopes that his cause will appear to every one a great cause on the day when it shall be presented at the bar of the consular tribu- nal, with liberty on the right hand and property on the left. He will speak himself, if need be, in aid of the independence of his art. He will plead for his rights firmly, with gravity and simplicity, without hatred or fear of any one. He counts on the co-operation of all, on the frank and cordial support of the press, on the justice of public opinion, on the equity of tribunals. He will succeed. He doubts it not. The state of siege will be raised in the city of literature as in the city politic. When this shall be done, when he shall have brought to his home intact, inviolate, and sacred the liberty of a poet and a citizen, he will again set himself peaceably to the work of his life, from which he has been so violently forced, and from which he would not willingly abstain for a moment. He has his task before L64 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. him, he knows it, and nothing- shall distract him from it. For the moment political work conies to him ; he has not sought, but he accepts it. Truly the power which encounters us will not have gained much when we indignant and offended artists quit our con- scientious, peaceful, earnest and sacred work — our work of the past and of the future — to mix ourselves with an irreverent and scoffing* assembly, who for fifteen years have watched, amid hoot- ing and whistling, the wretched political bunglers who imagined they were building- a social edifice because every day, with great trouble, sweating* and panting-, they wheeled a heap of legal pro- jects from the Tuileries to the Palais-Bourbon, and from the Palais- Bourbon to the Luxembourg ! November dOth, 1832. PERSONAGES OF THE DRAMA. Francis the First. Triboulet, The Court Jester. Mons. St. Vallier. Mons. Des Gordes. Mons. De Pienne. Mons. De Latour Landry. Mons. De Vic. Mons. De Pardaillan. Mons. De Cosse. Mons. De Brion. Mons. De Montmorency. Mons. De Montchenu. Maitre Clement Marot, The Court Poet. Saltabadil, A Bravo. Blanche, Daughter to Triboulet. Dame Berarde, A Duenna. Maguelonne, Sister to Saltabadil. Madame De Cosse. A Messenger from the Queen. A Servant of the King-. A Surgeon. Courtiers, Ladies, Servants. (165) THE KING'S DIVERSION. ACT FIRST : MONS. DE ST. VALLIER. Scene 1. — The stage represents a Fete at the Louvre. A mag- nificent suite of apartments crowded with nobles and ladies of the court in full costume. There are lights, music, (lancing, and shouts of laughter. Servants hand refreshments in vessels of porcelain and gold. Groups of guests pass and repass across the stage. The fete drams to an end, daylight peeps through the windows. The architecture, the furniture, and tlie dresses belong to the style of the Renaissance. The King as painted by Titian.— Mom. De la Tour Landry. The King. I'll ne'er relinquish the adventurous chase Till it give forth the fruit of so much toil. Plebeian though she be ! of rank obscm^e, Her birth unknown, her very name concealed : What then ? These e37es ne'er gazed on one so fair. La Tour. And this bright city goddess still 3^011 meet At holy mass ? The King. At St. Germain des Pres As sure as Sunday comes. La Tour. Your amorous flame Dates two months since. You've tracked the game to earth. The King. Near Bussy's Terrace, where De Cosse dwells, She lives immured. (167) 168 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [Act I. La Tour. I think I know the spot, That is, the outside. Not, perchance, so well As doth your Majesty the heaven within. The King. Nay, there you flatter; entrance is denied. A beldam fierce, who keeps e3^es, ears, and tongue Under her guidance, watches ever there. La Tour. Indeed ! The King. And then, oh mystery most rare ! As evening falls, a strange unearthly form. Whose features night conceals, enshrouded close In mantle dark, as for some guilty deed, Doth glide within. La Tour. Then do thou likewise. The King. The house is barred and isolate from all. Nay. La Tour. At least the fair one, with such patience wooed. Hath shewn some signs of life. The King. I do confess. If glances speak the soul, those witching eyes Proclaim no hatred insurmountable. La Tour. Knows she a monarch loves ? The King. Impossible! A homely garb, a student's woollen dress Conceals my quality. La Tour. Oh, virtuous love ! m 11. | THE KING'S DIVERSION. L69 Thai burns with such a pure undying flame. 1 warrant me 'tis some sly Abbe's mistress. (Enter Triboulet, and